


The Darkness of Sithis

by Alex (TFTBHMod)



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Argonians, Black Marsh, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFTBHMod/pseuds/Alex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under cover of night, with the aid of a shadowed murderer, the young Prince of Black Marsh escaped the flames that claimed his home and his family, ordered by a ruthless military leader. His homeland lost, he bides his time in southern Cyrodiil until he can reclaim his throne once more. A last request from a trusted friend sends him north, to the frozen homeland of the Nords, to Skyrim, and there he comes across the one group that would feel like the family he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man in Black and Red

There are many in Tamriel who say the swamps and marshland of Argonia, known to many as the land of Black Marsh, are the most beautiful regions of the continent. The cool hues of the waters and trees, it all blends together perfectly like a beautiful watercolour. In the centre of the province lies its capital city of Helstrom. In days past, the city of Stormhold served as Argonia’s capital city, the seat of its government and monarchy, but after the ruin left in the wake of Umbriel, Helstrom became the seat of power in the homeland of the Saxhleel. Due to the old walls surrounding it, Helstrom was exceptionally defendable, to say nothing of the treacherous marsh spreading for acres on end that any attackers would need to trudge through.  
Atop the natural hill where the city was built, a palace lay, built in the traditional Argonian style making use of natural caves coupled with brickwork of the people’s more civilised manner. The result reminded one of a huge, beige stone tree, towers and spires growing up like branches, rooted into the hillside itself. On the steps of the palace, leading to a gate in the walls, three young children strolled up happily, basking in the late morning sun, approaching the guardsmen keeping watch.  
The oldest of the three, a mere slip of an Argonian hatchling boy, confidently bounded up to the guard.  
“Can we come in?” He asked in his most grown-up voice, which came out of his adolescent throat as nothing more than a squeak.  
The Breton guard looked down upon the group, two hatchlings and an Imperial child, and frowned slightly. “His Grace and the royal family are indisposed, young ones. I’m afraid the young prince will not be out today.”  
“Oh” was the only word the Argonian boy could let out.  
“And on whose authority is this on?”  
The voice, flowing and regal like silk, came from a woman, standing behind the guard, flanked by her handmaiden and a personal bodyguard. She, an Argonian like two of the children, glared at the guard like a crocodile sizing up its meal, with almost camouflage-like green scales and piercing eyes of blue. The guard, all colour drained from his sun-bronzed skin, stepped back, bowing low to the Queen of Argonia.  
“Uh...the general, your Highness,” the guard murmured. “Direct orders from your husband.”  
“Well, I order otherwise,” the Queen retorted, turning to the children. “Come, children. Let us go release my son from his father’s droning.”  
The hatchling boy bowed to the Queen, as the two girls curtsied, pinching the tails of their skirts. “Thank you, your Grace.”  
Her Royal Highness led the children through the palace grounds, into the centralmost spire at the base of the palace. Behind the hulking metal doors, the throne room opened up, resplendently decorated with thick rugs and banners featuring the golden crown over the Hist tree insignia of Argonia’s kingdom. In the centre of the room, His Eminence was lecturing regarding the history of the nation. King Siskeeth III sat on the throne, cut from the wood of an ancient Hist tree, inlaid with gold and a seat made of silk, and his first and only child was cross-legged in front of him.  
“Now, son,” he said, his voice deep and calm, as a King’s voice should be, "who freed several of our kind from slavery across Morrowind at the end of the Third Era?”  
I pondered for a second, trying to think of the correct answer as I gazed at my father’s dark turquoise scales. Many of our servants had commented that I looked so much like my mother; I had her scales, green like leaves, and her long tail. However, my father and I definitely shared our curved horns and eyes, slitted pupils and yellow-gold like the sun.  
“It was the Nerevarine,” my mother called from the doorway. “Anything that happened in the Third Era in Morrowind was probably her.”  
“Daran!” My father called, slightly annoyed by her answering a question meant for me. Since I was to be king sometime in the future, he expected me to be familiar with the history of our land and people. Which meant I was always reading and learning from history scholars.  
“Husband, you two have been in here for hours now.” Mother’s voice was stern and disapproving; it was her wish for me to have some semblance of a childhood before the responsibility of the throne was passed to me. “I think our prince has earned some time with his friends.”  
I could hear my father fuming, so much so that you could hook meat to his horns to cook, but he gave in. “Back inside by sunset.”

“Wanna drink?” Nika asked, as we made our way towards the palace’s south wall. A small creek ran from a natural spring within the hill, out of the palace grounds through a rusted metal grate. Nearly every day for years, my friends and I would sneak out into the marshes behind Helstrom to play together (‘play’ being a loose term; as we neared adulthood, mostly we sat on the banks of the marshland and sipped liquor we’d pinched from our parents. I may have been a prince, but I was still an adolescent.) Dislodging the grate, we crept down the mountainside and disappeared into the trees.  
“What do you got today, Anna?” Tan asked the tan-skinned, brunette Imperial girl, Annalise. Her father ran an inn in Helstrom’s upper ring, the district closest to the palace, and she often ‘borrowed’ some liquors from her father’s cellar.  
“Thee-lool, I think,” she told him, prompting the three of us to laugh at her butchery of the Argonian language of Jel.  
“It’s pronounced ‘thay-lul’,” Nika’s voice was breathless with laughter. “Don’t feel bad; I’ve yet to meet a human that can talk Jel at all.”  
Anna blushed slightly at our jokes, as we continued through the woodlands until we reached the banks. Above a reed-covered lake, the midday sky blazed through the clearing in the forest. Sunlight bounced off the waters like arrows on steel, shining wondrously.  
“How’s the education going, your Highness?” Tan, the other boy with us, turned to me and said, jokingly bowing. Tan-Rei and I had known each other nearly all of our lives; his father, a Deelith in the Temple of the Hist, served as a confidant and religious advisor to my own.  
I turned to him and smiled. “Let’s just say I’d rather listen to your father preaching for six hours straight.”  
Tan chuckled, his purplish scales glistening in the sunlight. A handsome lad, but there was little of him; skinny and tall, with a long tuft of feathers atop his long skull and beady grey eyes. Our foursome sat by the lakeside, on the soft grassy knoll that slipped down to the lip of the waters. I made sure to sit on a blanket I’d brought from the palace, since my mother would have strung me up by my tail if I came home to the palace with grass stains on my breeches.  
Nika opened the bottle of theilul, releasing the sweet aroma into the air around us, a light scent like roses. She lifted the bottle to her burnt-scaled lips and took a mouthful of the syrupy liquor, before wincing to force it down. The poor girl wasn’t too accustomed to drinking like this; living in an orphanage didn’t afford many opportunities to sip and savour delicate liquor.  
My mind turned back to the first time I’d met the girl, when both of us were around eight years from hatching. The bitterly cold winds of Sun’s Dusk had arrived in Helstrom, as well as the frequent rains from the south. A servant of ours had been sent to the palace’s cellar to procure some Surilie Brothers’ wine, and instead of the bottles, they’d found a young hatchling girl who’d found her way in, shivering and feverish from the cold. My mother took her and cared for her until she regained her strength, but my father refused to allow her to stay afterwards, despite my mother and I both pleading on her behalf. Instead, she returned to the orphanage, but with a promise that she would have a home in the palace as one of my mother’s handmaidens when she came of age.  
Nika passed the bottle to Anna, her face giving away that she was struggling to keep the stuff down. The Imperial took a very quick mouthful and swallowed it down hard, a style of drinking more fitted to an aged alcoholic than a teenage human girl. She told me often of her serving and cleaning work for her father, tales that made me glad of my privileged life, and it was plain to see where she’d learned to drink.  
The bottle made its way to Tan, who took a mouthful, savouring the thick drink before taking it down with a powerful swallow. Impressive as it would have been, the charm was somewhat lost when he began to retch, struggling to keep the theilul in his stomach. Luckily for his ego, he managed to avoid making a mess of the grass and thus, avoided the relentless mocking that would have ensued.  
And Tan passed the bottle to me, finally. The brown glass of the funnel was cool on the skin of my hand, as I lifted it to my mouth. The syrup flowed onto my tongue, the sugary liquor dancing on my tastebuds. Theilul, made by distilling sugarcane juice and molasses together, had a significantly different taste to rum: rum’s sweetness is overwhelming, as well as the burn of the liquor, whereas theilul is distinctly softer on the palate. As the syrup flowed into my belly, the warmth of the liquor spread through me. Unlike my friends, a lifetime of sipping wine with foreign dignitaries, politicians and monarchs had accustomed my stomach to the poison of spirits, so drinking it did nothing to make me wince or retch.  
The four of us lay back on the grass, gazing up into the blue skies over the marshland, and happily talked together.  
The sun had begun to fall before we made our way back to the city. Going back was always much more difficult than leaving; not for any other reason than that the trek uphill was death on my legs. As I broke open the rusted grate once again, I turned towards the pathway through the woods, where Tan, Anna and Nika were casually strolling back to the upper district of the city. There had been times when I wished to go with them, even for a time, however I was at too much risk; I could end up locked in a cellar somewhere, being held for ransom. Creeping off to the marshes would have to suffice for now.  
“So you’re the prince?”  
The man’s voice was a sly whisper, a grating, rough voice that seemed to cut through me like a dull blade. He himself, an older Argonian with scales of a dirty green colour, like swamp mud, that were beginning to fade and turn translucent with age, stared at me with eyes like orange daggers. Two thin fins jutted out from the side of his skull, torn and scarred from what looked like battle battery.  
“Do I look like a serving boy?” I snapped at him, gesturing to the cotton buckled tunic that was probably worth more than the soldier’s commission for the year.  
His eyes widened slightly in shock and bemusement. “A sharp tongue.”  
“Observant.” I narrowed my eyes at the old man. “Who are you?”  
He...chuckled. The only way to describe the deep half-laughing sound was ‘chuckle’. “Nobody you need to concern yourself with, child. I doubt we will meet again.”  
“I will concern myself with this if I see fit to. I am your future king, and I demand to know who you are.”  
The man turned away, the sword strapped to his hunched back glinting in the setting sun’s rays. “I don’t have a king.” Before the man disappeared behind the steps down towards the higher district, I heard his rasping voice call to me one more time. “Goodbye, Prince Demerinei.” Normally, such a phrase I’d have brushed off, but just looking at this man made every scale on my body crawl. And in his voice, the words became...foreboding. Cryptic. As if there were a meaning behind them that was obscured to me.  
These thoughts melted away, as I was pulled back to Nirn by my father calling for me. But the strange Argonian man’s face lingered in the back of my mind. His was a face I’d never forget as long as I lived.

I remember that night as vividly as if it were unfolding before me. Weeks had passed since I’d seen the peculiar Argonian man in the palace gardens, and my slumber was disturbed by the dense odour of smoke billowing from behind my door. I stayed in bed, half-praying that it was simply a nightmare, but my fears were founded when the wood of the door splintered, ominous black smoke flowing into the room.  
“My lord!” The man behind the door bellowed to me. “Come, you’re in grave danger!”  
"Who are you? What's happened?" I asked him, my voice still rough from sleep.  
"This is no time, young prince, you must forgive me," he told me, grabbing clothing and what supplies he could find in my bedroom. “Dress, please, we have to leave.”  
"Why?"  
"You'll know everything you need to when we've reached safety. Quickly!"  
I heaved my heavy body from the bed, keeping low to avoid breathing the dense smoke in the room. From the armoire, I took out one of my tunics, belting it up around my waist. The man was still piling my things in a knapsack, his scales glowing burgundy in the torchlight. Panic was evident on his face, his maw was dropping and his small blue eyes wide in fear. His fear infected me, as the gnawing in the pit of my stomach grew with each passing moment.  
With all my education in the royal affairs, there were certain things I still knew little of. Whether my father did not wish me to know these things, I was unsure, but I knew enough to figure out the identity of this man. Not a simple guard or servant, his armour was not the steel plate that most of the royal guard wore; his was red and black dyed leather, enchanted to be silent in movement but sturdy in battle. His boots made no noise as he walked, regardless of the heft of his footfalls, and his face was covered by a black cloth cowl. The man was part of an organisation the royal family only used in dire circumstances, for protection, preemptive attacks and assassinations: the Shadowscales.  
The assassin and I moved quickly through the upper floor, where smoke from the fire had formed an almost opaque barrier. Servants screamed in horror, guards panicked, bellowing orders at each other as they frantically tried to douse the flames. Those with magical prowess attempted to tackle the fires with frost magic, while others battled with buckets of water. In the confusion, I caught sight of the source of the smoke.  
Gods, no.  
The Shadowscale half-dragged me through the stone hallways, frantically searching for an escape from the palace. We remained hidden from sight, for some reason only the Shadowscale knew. Luckily, the guards were all occupied attempting to extinguish the flames, and we escaped the palace through the tall doors.  
“I have a horse waiting,” the Shadowscale explained. “We must flee the city. You’re no longer safe, child.”  
“I’ll go nowhere with you,” I growled, “until you tell me what’s happening.”  
The tall Argonian man worked on saddling up the horse, until he eventually sighed. “There’s been a fire.”  
My eyes looked up at him, a sorrowful expression on his face. “I guess it wasn’t an accident?”  
The Shadowscale shook his head. “I apologise, my prince, but time is of the essence. You must trust me.”  
My foot moved, almost without me noticing, as I took a step back from the shadowed killer. “Why should I? You’re a Shadowscale, a murderer.”  
Anger flashed in the Shadowscale’s small, blue eyes, as he bared his teeth slightly. “I may be a murderer, but I’m a murderer who has sworn fealty to your family. I am bound to protect you with my life.”  
Before I could protest, the assassin had me on the horse, and the horse galloped off through the streets of Helstrom. For a second, I turned back to the palace, gazing up into the regal spires growing out from the hill. Flames burst through the windows of the royal bedrooms, smoke drifting up from them like ghosts rising up to the heavens, and I felt the wetness of tears between the scales of my face, as the Shadowscale and I fled to the roads out of the city.

The sun began to rise over the tops of the cedar trees, growing in the midst of the marshlands, as I awoke from my state of semi-consciousness. The Shadowscale and I were still atop his stallion, trotting slowly along the dirt pathway. Somehow, we had managed to escape the city and had moved into the wilderness of Black Marsh itself. The horse had grown exhausted, having ridden from the small hours of the morning until dawn with no rest, and eventually stopped with no energy to press on. I dragged my tired body down from the saddle, struggling to avoid collapsing from my own tiredness, but I kept a tall stance, mustering as much of my royal authority as I could.  
"You owe me answers, Shadowscale," I barked to him, despite knowing most of them in my heart already. “I want to know what happened last night, and I want to know now.”  
From a storm that occurred Sithis-knew-how-long ago, a dead tree had fallen onto the banks of the marshwater, where the Shadowscale perched. “My prince,” he sighed, “I think you should sit.”  
Had I not been so exhausted, I would have ignored his suggestion, but I sat next to the man on the fallen tree, making the branches dip into the water.  
Before speaking, the Shadowscale took a deep, ragged breath, gazing up towards the receding darkness of the dawning sky. “Sithis knows you’re a strong lad, my prince, but this will be as difficult for you to hear as it is for me to say.  
“The flames you saw as we fled the palace, they were no accident, as you said. Our Sanctuary’s leader received an anonymous tip that the Morag Tong had reformed in Morrowind, for one more great assassination.” Strange... The Shadowscale’s voice had a hint of longing in it. “It didn’t take us long to conclude their targets. The Dark Brotherhood and the Tong had always been able to outmaneuver each other. As soon as my leader had the information, he ordered me to Helstrom to try and prevent it, but I didn’t make it. The same instant I arrived in the city, the flames had grown too large to fight. I only had time to get to your bedchamber, but your parents-”  
"Don't say it," I whispered, tears coming forth in my eyes and sorrow choking my lungs. "This is fallacy. A cruel joke."  
"Demerinei," the Shadowscale whispered, his own sorrow forcing an edge to my name, “your parents are dead.”  
My heart stopped dead in my chest. Breathing seemed the most arduous task I’d ever had to do in that instant, as the air flowing into my lungs felt sharp and ragged, as if it were tearing the flesh of my throat. The hackles on my arms and the back of my neck rise, rage boiling in my stomach.  
“Who...” My voice was little more than a guttural growl. “...ordered it?”  
The Shadowscale spat on the ground, more for show of rage than any real need. “Wan-Xeera, the damned traitor. Leader of the An-Xileel, the anti-monarchist organisation behind the Umbriel crisis a century ago. He came to see your father a few weeks ago to discuss more power for them, but he was turned away.”  
That must have been him. The finned Argonian man I met in the palace gardens.  
“Damn,” I whispered in sheer, blinding rage. “I should have killed that rat bastard when I had the chance. He was skulking around the palace gardens as I was coming in.”  
“You may be strong,” the Shadowscale said, “but you’re no killer, young prince.”  
“That can change.”  
Despite the crippling sorrow and blinding rage the two of us were suffering through, we shared an awkward chuckle at my budding murderous tendencies. For countless moments, silence fell over the two of us as I reined in my emotions. For now, we needed to get to safety. Grief could wait.  
"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to make some sense of these events.  
The Shadowscale sucked through his teeth, clearly trying to control his own anger as well. “Black Marsh isn’t safe, I don’t think. I have a friend in Leyawiin, through the Blackwood into Cyrodiil. She runs an inn, so we’ll have work and a place to stay.”  
I nodded slowly. For now, safety for myself and the Shadowscale was priority. For perhaps an hour or two, he and I simply rested, partaking in some of the water and food he’d brought with him. Once the mare had rested and grazed some, it came time for us to continue on our way.  
From the knapsacks on his horse, the Shadowscale drew several weapons; an oakwood bow and quiver of arrows, a longsword and one-handed axe made of tempered steel. Gesturing to them, he asked which I was most proficient with.  
My eyes scanned the weapons, trying to reclaim the knowledge of weaponry through the haze of my mind. "The bow, I think. My father always said my aim was better than his. Whether that meant it was good or his lacked, I don’t know.”  
“Good enough,” he said, passing me the bow and quiver. I fixed them around my shoulder, as he took the longsword, fixing its sheath to his hip.  
“We must move,” he ordered gruffly, as he readied the stallion once again. “We’ll go north past Gideon, then through the Blackwood. The ride will be about a week long.”  
Minutes later, the two of us were on the road again, making our way through the marshlands of my home, that I was unlikely to gaze upon for a long time.  
“Shadowscale,” I asked. “What do I call you?”  
“I go by Teeka-Tei, these days,” he told me. “You call yourself Pajux-Tai. Safer this way.”


	2. The Five Claws Lodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having escaped with the Shadowscale into Leyawiin, a city in Cyrodiil's southern reaches, the prince must now undertake the false persona of Pajux-Tai for his own safety. With the aid of the innkeeper of the Five Claws Lodge and the Shadowscale, he manages to survive and thrive into adulthood. But the persecution of the An-Xileel does not stop at Argonia's border...

The outside of Leyawiin reminded me a little of Helstrom; the walls of faded grey stone, turrets and towers poking up like the canopy of the trees. Standing high above the city, the spire of the Chapel of Zenithar, God of the Trade, reached up towards the clouds. Stained glass windows glinted in the setting sun, framed by the stonework built by master craftsmen centuries ago in tribute to the legend of the Mace of the Crusader, a weapon rumoured to have been crafted by the god himself.  
Teeka-Tei and I made our way into the city, the inside of which was strikingly different to the capital of Argonia. Cobbled streets leading through alleys of coloured stone and brick, which was the core of the upper-class district of the city. The most noticeable difference to Argonian cities was the foliage; back in Black Marsh, grasses, vines and plants grew freely between stones and bricks, but in Leyawiin, all of the greenery was confined behind brick corrals. How odd.  
Teeka’s friend owned an inn named the Five Claws Lodge, a quaint wooden building in the poorer section of the city, where the norm for living was run-down, wooden shacks. Of course, this was where most Argonians and Khajiit, the felines of Elsweyr, made their homes; the beastfolk of Tamriel led disadvantaged lives, held under the thumbs of the humans. Living in a palace, though, I’d never seen it in person. Until now.  
Inside the wooden building, the dinnertime rush had begun. A server busied himself tending to the mostly Argonian and Khajiit customers, delivering food and drinks. An unassuming place, the Five Claws was decorated with riverside plants; marigolds, lilies and the like, as well as watercolour paintings of the marshes of home. From the main dining and bar room, several bedrooms were found down the hall, and a kitchen on the western side.  
Behind the bar stood a woman, an Argonian as well. Yellowish scales were covered by a cream-coloured cotton dress, with thin, long fins stretching from her head, decorated with assorted metal rings. Bright candlelight filled the room, illuminating her eyes, big and bright golden.  
Her voice sang like bells as she called my saviour’s false name, exchanging some pleasantries in the language of humans, Tamrielic. A language I knew almost as well as my native tongue of Jel, but I was simply too exhausted to pay much attention to their conversation.  
“It’s good to see you, Kasasei,” Teeka-Tei told her, his thick arms embracing her wiry form tightly. “I need my regular room, and it's gonna be for a while. I’ll tell you everything on a full stomach.” He patted his lower abdomen.  
Kasasei fixated her gold eyes on me, as they became black with shock. She kept calm, though, chuckling at Teeka’s false hunger. “Of course, Teeka. Come along.”  
Politely, I nodded to her. “Thank you, ma'am.”  
Teeka and I followed her through the kitchens, towards the back of the inn, where two private rooms awaited; one for her personal use, and another kept presumably for him. Complete with two beds. If it wasn't for my almost-crippling exhaustion, I'd have pondered on that: did he know he'd be coming here with a newly-orphaned royal charge?  
As soon as we were inside, the door locked with a slight click. Kasasei’s demeanour darkened, as she began to speak in Jel.  
“My young prince, I am so sorry,” she whispered, kneeling to face me. Sadness marred the bright, golden colour of her eyes as tears glistened over them. “Word arrived yesterday about the royal family. Worry not, you are safe here. Whatever you need, whatever I can give, you need only ask, my child.” This time, it was my eyes brimming with tears, as I nestled myself into her chest and let her hold me tightly. The way my mother used to.  
Kasasei saw to it that we were fed well, but once I'd eaten I wanted nothing more than rest. My bones, my scales, my eyes ached with exhaustion, as I retired to the bedroom. As I lay on the bed, sleep evaded me for a few moments, but I knew why. Pulling the sheet up over my horns, I buried myself in the pillow and wept silently. For myself, for my parents, for my friends, and also for my kingdom.

******

Eight years passed in a blur of drinks, food and bar fights. Teeka's skill in the kitchen drew in customers from as far as Bravil, as I carted the food to the impolite bastards without so much as a word of thanks. Over the years, I grew from a wiry adolescent into a handsome, strong young man: carrying heavy trays of food and drink, patching up wood and stone and lifting boxes of delivered foods built me up well. There were no shortage of women and men vying for the affections of the pretty serving boy at the Five Claws, and I dallied with a few of them at my leisure.  
My homeland, however, did not flourish as well as I did: around a year after...that night, Wan-Xeera led a coup and declared himself Lord Ruler of Argonia. Under his iron fist, everything appeared well on the surface, however murmurs and stories began to arise. Midnight kidnappings, silent executions...Argonia was suffering. And as long as she did, I did.   
Shortly after news of his theft of power, a courier delivered Teeka a letter: he would not speak of it, nor show me the contents, but I could tell he was in mourning. A friend, a loved one, a wife...I couldn't begin to guess. Despite how I trusted him, I knew precious little about my saviour and guardian.  
"Serving boy," a middle-aged Imperial man called out to me from the corner of the inn, where he dined on a traditional Argonian dish: hulxati, a salmon stuffed with roots that grow in the marsh, mixed with peppers and lemon zest. "I apologise, I don't know your name."  
"It's Pajux, milord," I told him in my most polite tone, with my most courteous smile. Many think Argonians are an unfeeling people, as our facial expressions are somewhat different. Humans would interpret a smile as a threat; we brandish our teeth and our eyes squint. Telling the difference is an acquired skill, simple once it is learned.  
"Pajux, my lad," he said with a human smile, as well as a slight slur. He was on his third brandy, evident by the sweat on his curdled-cream coloured brow. "It is a sin against the gods that your people are treated the way they are."  
"Worry not, my Count," I replied. "You have more than made up for your ancestor's actions."  
Count Caro gave me another smile, this one proud and genuine. The poor man felt so much guilt over how his family had historically treated Argonians and Khajiit: Marius and Alessia, who were Count and Countess of Leyawiin in the late Third Era, were by far the worst of the lot, torturing Argonian immigrants for nothing more than sick pleasure. In the past, the Argonian people would live solely in the present, not dwelling in the past nor planning much for the future. Nowadays we have traded that mentality for a sense of time: we have learned to plan the future, remember the past, but also worry for what may happen and hold grudges over what has.   
However, Lucillius made a point of righting these wrongs when he was coronated. Within months, the beast races were allowed places in court, given ease of citizenship in the city, and a place of worship for the Khajiiti pantheon was built. However, the people denied his plan to build a shrine to Sithis for Argonians, but compromised on a Hist sapling being planted on the city's western side. This action was something we were more than grateful for: with a Hist tree, Leyawiin felt like home for us.  
"May I get you something else?" I asked the Count, taking out my small pad covered in the scrawl I called handwriting. The scales of my fingers were blackened with the charcoal I used to write. Such a change from soft quills I used to write with.  
"Get yourself a bottle of wine," he answered, "on me."  
I chuckled softly. "If I did that, the ma'am would choke me with my own tail."  
"Fair enough. Even I can't order that one around." Caro held his mug to his withered lips, throwing his head back to choke down the brandy. His greying brown hair swung past his shoulder with the motion, while he raised his hand to wipe his mouth. "Back to duty, I suppose."  
"Until next time, milord."  
As he left the lodge, I set to work cleaning his table before the next customer took to sitting down. Kasasei called to me from behind the bar, informing me my shift was done.  
"You want a drink, son?" She asked me, cleaning out a glass for me. The point of asking escaped me; since I turned seventeen years old, I imbibed in a glass of wine after working.  
"The usual," I told her, groaning as I sat on the bar stool. "That was a long day."  
"Well, I'll be sure to have you cooking Loredas night," she scolded me in jest. "That's a long day. Do you have plans tonight?"  
"Nothing," I sighed, taking the glass of wine she offered. "I think I'll have some wine, read or something."  
"Not seeing any 'friends' tonight?" A half-smile stretched up her mouth.  
Staring into my wine, I couldn't help but smile. "Actually, I have arranged for someone to climb through the window tonight to sleep with me. My time is precious these days, I have little to spend courting."  
The matron shook her head, her half-smile growing as she swept away to fulfil the needs of the customers. I wished my words weren't a jest for a moment; some company wouldn't have gone amiss. After finishing my wine, I took to the bedroom, passing Teeka in the kitchen and exchanging a polite greeting. The setting sun cast rays of orange light into the bedroom, dimly illuminating it and leaving deep shadows in their wake. With a slight wave of my hand, I channeled some magicka through my fingertips and summoned flames from the wicks of the candles. Beside my bed, a copy of the novel Purloined Shadows sat, which I picked up and lost myself in for a few hours before I succumbed to the shadows of sleep.

In my adult years, my hatchday felt no different than any other day; I would rise from my bed at six bells, aid Kasasei to clean the front room and serve breakfast to the guests. For the next few hours, I would stand at the bar and tend. However, the night of my twenty-first, Kasasei had closed the inn after the dinner rush so that she, Teeka-Tei and I could celebrate together. Furthermore, she’d even opened her secret stash of theilul especially for the occasion.  
In front of the fires of the hearth, flickering and warm, I sat with a glass of the syrupy liquor. The rich smell of the molasses, the sweet taste of the sugarcane and the light burn of the alcohol... I was fifteen years old once again, laughing with my childhood friends on the banks of the river. The all-too-familiar cold stab of grief pained me once again, as I felt tears brim up in my eyes. Tan, Anna, Nika...were they even alive? If so, what kind of strife were they suffering through, a suffering I’d abandoned them to? A strange, tickling sensation pricked at the back of my neck. As if their eyes were on me, burrowing into my skull.  
“What's the matter, lad?” Teeka’s deep voice grumbled behind me, as he threw himself onto the armchair by the fire. The dull orange light made his burgundy scales look black as night,  
“Nothing,” I breathed, “just... Homesick, let's say.”  
Teeka pursed his lips, a gesture meant to appear consoling. “I understand. I can't believe it's been six years.”  
“To be honest, Teeka,” I replied, “I still don't believe it's been six hours. Everything is so fresh in my memory, like a cut that's still bleeding.”  
“Drink, son. It helps.”  
The way the word rolled from his tongue, easily, naturally, as if for a moment I could have been. Teeka-Tei, his wife Kasasei and his son Pajux-Tai, running the Five Claws as a family. Prince Demerinei perished with his parents, and the troubles of our homeland were not ours any longer. But it could never be so.  
Kasasei skipped through the room, a spring in her step: she loved celebrating events like this. New Life, Emperor’s Day, North Wind’s Prayer, for all of these Kasasei would celebrate and force us to as well. Such an important milestone in my life was no exception.  
Three glasses of wine were poured, drunk, poured again, and drunk once more. With each mouthful, the three of us grew more merry and joyful. The time passed as Kasasei boasted and told stories of her past; one in particular struck a chord of hearty laughter from me. Some years before Teeka and I arrived, she had a suitor that lived in the inn, an Argonian bard who called himself Sings-Brightly. Youthful, handsome, the two were taken with each other from the moment they met.  
Until she found him in their bed with two travelling Khajiit concubines. Luckily, he never noticed, so she could plot a fitting revenge. And her revenge fit indeed. As he slept, she took her dagger and...relieved the unfaithful bard of his coin purse, in a manner of speaking. It would have been delicious, had he not bled out before waking.  
“And I still have them in my cupboard,” she joked. I think. By Sithis, I hoped so.  
“Well done,” Teeka guffawed, spilling wine down his grey overshirt.  
“I may have an amusing story,” I announced, a little slurred, “if I may?”  
"Do share!" Kasasei told me, sipping her wine.  
The last droplets of wine flowed down my gullet, as I worked up the courage to tell the story. "Back at the palace, around my thirteenth year, my childhood friend Tan-Rei and I were playing Hip and Tail Ball together, down in the marshes. Tan was the son of the Deelith who advised my father, and we'd been friends our entire lives.” I poured myself another glass of wine. Sithis, this was embarrassing, but I couldn't stop the words. “The two of us played for a while, and took a rest on the banks. The sun was just dipping over the trees, and the cicadas were singing loud. I felt his hand on mine, sheepishly stroking the scales. I made the first move, awkwardly kissing him, and then...” I turned my gaze from them and felt the colour drain from my face. Teeka and Kasasei stared blankly for a second, before bursting into roaring laughter.  
"A priest's son!" Teeka exclaimed proudly. "A difficult conquest, indeed!”  
I shared in their laughter for a few minutes, enjoying the merriment, before cutting it off altogether. “All right, Teeka, Kasasei and I both shared. Your turn.”  
A hefty sigh blew from Teeka’s maw, as he gulped down what was left of his theilul. "All right. What do you want to know? My first conquest?”  
“Nothing so mundane. Tell me of the Shadowscales. Why have you not returned to them?”  
I saw his head hang slightly, his features shifting from merry to a somewhat pensive expression. “Right. Well, do you remember some months after we arrived, I received a letter?”  
“Yes, actually,” I replied, recalling the incident in my mind; he would not speak of it then.  
“Well, it was orders from the Shadowscales. A failsafe, called the Sanction. In the gravest times, if the Sanctuary of the Shadowscales should fall, the Sanction is a means of informing agents in the field that they must hide. Abandon their posts, survive by any means necessary so that our order can return once more. But, I know in my heart there are only two of us left.” A dark chuckle echoed in the silence of the room. “We're all but extinct now.”  
Words failed myself and Kasasei, as we simply looked away from the man. There was little that could be said. After some minutes, I broke the silence with a question, the only query I could think of to cut the tense atmosphere.  
“Who is the other one?”  
Teeka drained the last of his drink. “A young man, about your age, Pajux. Before all this happened, he was sent to the Sanctuary in Skyrim, to work until he came of age. The last I heard, he was alive and well, and all I can do is hope that is still the case." A faint sheen of tears glazed over his emerald-green eyes, but he took a sharp inhale through his nose and chuckled wryly. "Damn, the drink really went to my head. I think I should retire for the night.”  
And thus, Kasasei and I were left to the pervading, shocked silence of the room. My stomach burned slightly, partly from the drink, mostly because of the guilt: I wished I'd never said anything, spared Teeka from bringing up that pain once more.  
We drank down what was left of our wine before saying goodnight to one another. The bedroom Teeka and I shared was silent as well, only illuminated by the single candle on my nightstand.  
“Teeka?” I whispered softly. “Are you awake?”  
A light snore was all I received in response.  
“I just wished to apologise for all that,” I said to the silence. “It was never my intention to upset you.” There was no response from Teeka, so I had to assume he was truly asleep.  
With that, I removed my tunic and climbed into my own bed.  
“Worry not, my lad,” Teeka assured me, working the spit and pot with a smile, as normal as ever. When I awoke that morning, my head feeling as if there were a boulder resting on it, Teeka had already risen, brought in the fresh deliveries and made a start on our breakfast. As soon as I awoke, I went to him, ensuring he knew how deeply regretful I felt about the previous night.  
“Are you sure, Teeka?” I echoed once more. “You seemed so distraught.”  
“I was, somewhat,” he admitted. “The Shadowscales were my family. But time has healed me somewhat. You and Kasasei are my family now.” The brute assassin-turned-chef pulled away from his cooking for a moment in order to pull me towards him, encasing me in his arms. I returned his tight hold on me, allowing myself a brief reprieve from guilt and grief.

Some months passed since the issues of my hatchday. Springtime in Leyawiin came and went, giving way to a warm coastal summer similar to the climes of Black Marsh. Pink, blue and white blossoms of trees and flowers fell away in the wake of summer’s thick greenery, and the sun blazed over our heads. Warmth filled the lodge, the kind of heat that drove the humans and elves away in a sheen of sweat. Our Khajiit and Argonian patrons lingered, both relaxing in the heat and reminiscing of their respective homelands.  
Business remained slow that day, allowing me time to relax with a glass of wine. Much to Kasasei’s ire, I partook in a drink or two when the work was light, but never so much as to impair myself. Simply to stave away boredom.  
Voices, thundering and gruff, arrived through the door before their owners did. Three of them, burly male Argonians in more traditional hide armours, exposing the scales of their stomachs and legs. Hunters, I surmised, coming across from the Blackwood. In the sunlight, I noticed a strange symbol of plated steel on their chests; the unmistakable face of an Argonian. Even with my knowledge of Argonian history, the symbol meant nothing to me.  
The three men sat at a table together, discussing something amongst themselves in hushed tones. My stomach knotted slightly, a hint of paranoia seeping into my blood. I inched myself closer to them, making as if I were coming to take their orders but reluctant to disturb them. Luckily, they ignored me and continued their conversation.  
“...and he's here?” The shortest one asked his companions. His round, yellowed eyes widened with a strange excitement, and his violet scales seemed to shake, each and every one. I got the feeling they were not discussing Teeka’s cooking.  
“‘S’what he said,” said the leader, broadest of the three with bright red scales. “Lodge in Leyawiin. In ‘n’ out, and we’re swimmin’ in Skooma.”  
The topic of discussion became irrelevant: I had to act.  
“You three!” I bellowed at the group, forcing them to turn and take notice. “Get out. We don't stand drugs here.”  
The red-scaled leader turned to me, his orange and yellow feathers bristling outwards in a show of aggression. “Who’s gunna make us?”  
Quick as a Khajiit, I ducked behind the bar and swiped the bow from underneath. Quiver strapped to my back, I drew string and took aim at the leader. With one motion, I could have had an arrow stuck six inches deep in his skull. “I will. Leave, and you live.”  
Red-scale laughed at my challenge, an evil hissing laugh right from the back of his throat. His two companions drew their own weapons, the small one that spoke to the leader before, drew a steel sword from the sheath on his hip, and the last readied his own bow. It was clear to see he was uncomfortable; his lanky, green-scaled form trembled.  
“A hand would be nice!” I called to the back rooms, which was met with shuffling and quick footsteps running through. A split-second later, Kasasei and Teeka-Tei burst through the door, armed to the teeth with swords and shields of leather.  
“I suggest you leave,” Kasasei hissed slowly. “You're not welcome here.”  
Red-scale readied another guffaw, but his orange-coloured eyes shifted towards my left-hand side. Directly to Teeka. “You.”  
A shift from his feet drew my attention for a moment. Teeka had shifted into a more fearful, closed off position. This wasn't good.  
“I knew one of our kind had hidden himself here,” the man’s hissing voice echoed, “but I never suspected for a moment that it was you.”  
“Xeen?” Teeka had changed; his voice was small, wary. I'd never seen him like this before: he was scared. “It can't be. You're dead.”  
“Wrong,” Xeen told him. “The Family held nothing for me, so I joined a group with real potential.”  
“The An-Xileel.” Teeka’s green eyes had moved downwards, as he glared with disgust at the emblem on Xeen’s armour.  
“True rulers of Black Marsh. Who are paying me a hefty amount to hunt down the remaining Shadowscales.”  
“How could you do this?” Teeka growled. “How could you betray us like this? The An-Xileel have destroyed everything we stood for! They killed the King!”  
Xeen scoffed disdainfully. “That bloated lukiul and his venomous bitch of a queen? They were pathetic, grown fat on the labour of our people."  
Rage, unbridled and hot, bubbled and burned over every inch of my skin. My vision became tinted with a haze of red.  
Teeka shot me a quick glance, as if to tell me to keep calm. If they find out who you are, his voice echoed in my head, we die. They drag your carcass back to Black Marsh and all hope is lost. Stay. Calm.  
"They deserved to die."

That was it. My consciousness seemed to leave my body, while something else took over me, something dark and demonic.  
"Enough." It was low, little more than a growl, until it erupted into a bellow, a roar. "Enough!"  
The arrow I held tightly in my grip flew through the air with a whizzing noise. Droplets of blood sprayed as the head cut right into the scale, flesh and bone of Xeen's hand. He screamed and howled in pain, before turning to me.  
“You little bastard," he hissed, "I'll rip your throat out."   
I hadn't thought this through. The hulking, brute form lunged towards me with bare teeth and claws. There was no time to load another arrow before he was on me, going straight for my throat. My bow clattered to the floor, just inches out of reach. I loosed my own claws, which I kept sharp and ready, swept towards his face, cracking through his scales and drawing blood. Xeen growled once more, a guttural noise, and I simply winced and waited for the darkness.  
Shick!  
The tip of the sword almost caught me in the stomach before it was pulled back out. Nothing stopped the cascade of blood and entrails falling onto my abdomen, though. As the brute's guts spilled all over, I watched the life drain from his eyes, ounce by ounce, as his eyes rolled back into his head and he flopped forwards. Dead.  
The corpse still weighed as much as it had in life, and it took some heaving to get it off me. Teeka's smiling face looked down at me, a mixture of concern for my wellbeing and relief at my safety in his small green eyes. His arm moved toward me, extended to offer me help.  
Then time stood still for a moment.  
Teeka's expression didn't shift in the slightest. His face still a smile towards me, his arm stretched out to help me up. A patch, tiny at first but growing with each passing instant, spread across his overshirt. Crimson blood, surrounding the wooden shaft of a stained arrow.  
Deafeningly, the ticks of the clock behind the bar began once again. The forces of Nirn took hold of Teeka, as he collapsed, falling back as if he were being pulled.  
"Teeka! No!" The shrill squeal of Kasasei's voice brought me out of my trance, as she moved to act. Sword in hand, she swung it forward towards the neck of the lanky bastard whose bow was still raised, aimed right at where Teeka's chest had been a moment ago.  
His bald, green-scaled head rolled over the floor of the inn, coming to a stop at my feet. I barely noticed it.  
"Teeka, please," I begged, my voice a breathless whisper as I attempted to persuade him to hold onto the tiny bits of life left in him. Blood leaked from the wound in his chest, and his breathing sounds grew wetter as the deadly flow filled his lungs. "You can't..."  
“Not much time.” The words were a cough, sending blood down his cheek. “Go north. Skyrim. The last Family of the Dark Brotherhood is there. I told you of the Shadowscale. You must find him.”  
Tears began trickling from my eyes, as my body racked with silent sobs. "I will. I swear I will, or die trying."  
“Tell him...tell him his father loves him dearly. My task is his now.” A weak chuckle rumbled in his flooded chest. "Sithis guide you, Your Majesty."  
The Shadowscale gave one last, feeble smile, as I felt his heart slowly stop under my hand.


	3. Helgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the last request of Teeka-Tei, Demerinei begins his journey to the northern province of Skyrim. A long cart ride to Bruma and a trek later, he finds himself in the cold reaches of the homeland of the Nords, as well as on the business end of an Imperial sword. However, dangers far worse than a human war lurk in the tundra.

“Of course, my lad,” Caro told me, his voice filled with pity. My concern for what he felt was minuscule as I knelt in front of his embroidered throne. Crests bearing the sigil of County Leyawiin, the white stallion on a forest green background, hung on thick velvet banners around the room.  
“I thank you kindly, my Count,” I replied graciously, bowing my head slightly. “It means much to my father’s memory that you will allow this.”  
“Think nothing of it.” The grace of the Count was not misplaced; very few people would allow any kind of service to Sithis. Argonians revered Him as well as the Hist, and while Teeka would have understood, I wished to give him a service to the Dread Lord: a service befitting a Shadowscale.  
Caro leant forward, his grey eyes brimming with genuine sadness. “If there is anything else I may do, you need only ask.”  
“There is one thing, milord, if it pleases.” His hand beckoned me to continue. “I require travel to Skyrim, after my father’s funeral. I realise with the civil unrest, this is not a simple task, but anything you could do would be much appreciated.”  
The Count pondered on my request, scratching his stubbled chin. The land of Skyrim, home to the Nord people, had been torn nearly to shreds by war. “I will arrange for transport to the border in the mountains, but this is all I can do, I’m afraid.”  
“I understand, my Lord. Many thanks."  
With Caro's blessing, I turned to take my leave of Castle Leyawiin. Every guard, servant, cleaner, passerby wore pity and sympathy for me on their face. And I hated every moment. Each frown and apology just renewed the grief and pain inside me, like a fresh sword stab. It reminded me that Teeka-Tei was truly gone.  
Closed until further notice.  
The page, words in the shaky, curved handwriting of Kasasei, had been nailed to the door of the Lodge. Neither she nor myself felt right about opening the lodge quite yet, just two days after. Most of the city came by the next day, not for drinks or food, but to help. The guards took the bodies of the An-Xileel assailants to the crypts, and many townsfolk aided the cleaning and brought us food while we were grieving.  
The Lodge was deathly silent and grey as a foggy moor. No candles lit, no drape open more than an inch, letting only slivers of clouded light enter the room. A shadowy form sat at one of the tables, a bottle of wine and a single cup in front of it, sips being taken every few moments.  
"The Count agreed to the funeral," I informed Kasasei.  
No words. Just a simple nod as she stared at her wine. From behind the bar, I lifted a single candle and ignited the wick with a pinch of magicka, bringing some light to the room. Kasasei's yellow scales had grown ashen and dry, the skin between them puffed and pink from the neverending flow of tears. Taking a cup for myself, I joined her at the table and let her rest her head on my shoulder.  
It took time, time of just sitting with her, before she broke her silence.  
"I loved him," she whispered, her voice rough, little more than a croak. "More than I've ever loved anyone."  
It seemed unfair of me to say anything; she needed just to speak.  
"We met more than twenty years ago. Someone wanted the captain of the watch dead, and it was his duty. My mother had just given me the inn, so I was still getting used to running everything. I'd never seen a man so handsome in my life as the one who strode through that door. Young love burns brighter than any flames.  
"It was not meant to be, though. His obligation to your grandmother, Queen Teela-Xi, led to us parting. Seeing him walk through that door again..." Kasasei raised a hand to dry her cheeks once again. "It all rushed back to me. These past six years were the happiest of my life. To have the love of my life with me once again, as well as a son to love with all my heart, it was all I'd wanted since he left."  
The two of us, the illusion of the family we had broken to shards, wept for our departed husband and father.

Our service was simplistic. Two other Argonian citizens and myself carried his coffin to the marshy swamp named Bogwater, southeast of the city. Kasasei and I both gave a curt speech, in our native tongue, before commending his soul to the Void and returning his body to the roots. By interring our dead in the marshes with a twig from a Hist tree, we prayed that it would allow them to be reborn in a new egg, as their soul departs to Sithis.   
Kasasei and I walked together, by ourselves, back to Leyawiin's towering stone walls, as we discussed my imminent departure for Skyrim. She vehemently denied bearing any sadness at my leaving, but I saw in her eyes how frightened she was of losing all she had left.  
"I will write, as often as I can," I promised her, something to assuage her worries.  
"Where will you go?" A question I dreaded; in short, I had no idea where to even begin. Skyrim was a completely alien place to me, and all I had to go on was an Argonian assassin for the Dark Brotherhood.   
"I have a brother," Kasasei continued. "Talen-Jei. He left us as a young man for Gideon, but after the An-Xileel took over, he took to the road again."  
"Is he in Skyrim?"  
"Last time I heard from him he was. In the city of Riften, he owns an inn with his lover."  
"It's a place to begin, at any rate."  
Count Caro had graciously paid my way to the border of Skyrim, on a horse and cart through Bravil towards the Heartlands. From the Jeralls, I would have to travel on foot to the city of Falkreath, somewhere I would at least be able to purchase fresh supplies. From there, Riften would be my preferred destination, per Kasasei's suggestion.  
Sleep was an ordeal that night. Worry and panic filled my mind like rain in a crevasse; even my scales seemed to tremble. What if I were to leave and something happened to Kasasei? My inner voice scolded me. If she were to fall ill or die alone, I would never forgive myself.  
No. This was not the time for thoughts like this. Teeka's last request of me was to do this, and I swore to Sithis and the Hist that I would uphold it. Kasasei would just have to be all right.  
Dawn broke over the city, streaming sunlight filling the empty darkness like water in a ditch. What little sleep I managed to get had been riddled with nightmares, the image of the arrow erupting from Teeka's chest as my mind taunted me with the notion of saving him from that horrible fate. If I hadn't been frozen, immobile with the fear of the rogue Shadowscale tearing out my throat, perhaps I could have moved him out of the way, threw myself in front of him.  
I slowly dragged myself out of my bed, a fresh wound of guilt and grief stabbing in my stomach while I cleaned myself at the basin, freshly filled the night before with crisp water. My scales drank the water greedily as I washed sleep from my eyes and dried tears from my cheeks. Some clothes, books and coin lay stuffed into a cloth knapsack by the foot of the bed, ready to be taken when I left, as well as a bow and quiver full of arrows, and a steel blade. A thought passed through my mind, to simply leave now and avoid a long goodbye with Kasasei. I scolded myself though; how could being so selfish even cross my mind? She kept me for six years out of nothing but kindness, the least I could give her back was a proper goodbye.  
The deathly quiet of the inn made the grief trickle back into my stomach. The fires underneath the pot and spit were cold as ice; normally they would be roaring by now, had Teeka been here. The scent of meats cooking and bread baking should have been drifting through the building, but all that filled my nose that morning was the stale smell of ash in the hearth. From the larder, I took the food Kasasei had set aside for me from the week's delivery and filled my knapsack.  
"Hello?" A voice echoed out from behind the oak front door, which I could tell belonged to a human woman. Knuckles rapped against the wood, quick and nervous.  
"Can I help you?" I asked the petite Breton, whose heart-shaped face smiled shakily at me.  
"I'm from the stables outside town," she announced. "Are you Pajux-Tai?"  
I didn't reply; simply gave her a nod.  
"Your cart's waiting. The driver asked me to let you know."  
"So soon?" I asked, not to her but simply to the air around me. "Tell them I'll be as swift as I can, if you please. There are some things I must see to."  
With a smile, the Breton turned on her heels and took leave, skirts swaying slightly in the wind. A slight panic setting in, I flitted through to the back rooms to rouse Kasasei. A shame I had to; she'd had such trouble sleeping that it felt wrong to rob her of what little she could get. What would be worse, though, is leaving without saying goodbye to her.  
"Kasasei?" I said softly, gently pushing the door to her quarters open. "Are you awake?"  
Covers delicately draped over her, I saw her form shift slightly. Long breaths became shorter and shorter as she woke, eventually sitting up from the pillow and dazedly rubbing sleep from her green eyes.  
"Pajux?" She whispered. "What's the matter?"  
"My carriage is here," I told her, a little heavy-heartedly. "It's time for me to leave."  
"Oh," I heard her murmur as she returned to full consciousness. "Give me a moment to dress."  
And a moment was all she took. Almost as soon as I clicked the door closed, it opened once more, Kasasei behind it. Dressed in a modest burgundy and cream outfit, accessorised with a silver locket that, she once told me, belonged to her mother. But sadness was clear in her face; understandably, she did not want me to leave. Had I a choice, I would have stayed as well.  
"We mustn't keep the driver waiting," she told me, in a flat tone of voice.  
The town was as vibrant as ever; people bustling around, performing their daily tasks. In the centre, the stalls of the marketplace had opened, with merchants peddling wares from all over Cyrodiil. The two of us made our way to the gates, no more than a light stroll. Every moment we lingered was another moment of company, before the empty solitude we both faced.  
"Do you have everything?" Kasasei broke the silence. "The food, coin and clothes?"  
"I do." For a woman of such small stature, the grip she held around my chest was extraordinarily tight, almost choking the life from me. I affectionately returned her embrace, as I felt a patch of moisture on my shoulder. Tears, I assumed, since I was shedding a few myself.  
"Farewell, dear child," she whispered to me, continuing to clutch me. "Be safe."  
"Same to you, Mother."  
As the word slipped from my lips, I felt a sharp gasp from her as she struggled against the grief and sorrow. The time came for me to let her go, and look my last upon the city I'd known as a home more than the palace in which I'd grown up.  
The cart pulled away on its journey to the northern border.

A signpost for the city of Bruma was a welcome sight on this seemingly endless journey. Nearly four days had passed on the back of that damned cart, my hindquarters and tail practically atrophying just sitting there. One would think the Count would have been able to get me a cart with a little more cushioning. But no; solid oak the whole way.  
I had only one companion on the journey, excepting the driver himself (a fairly grim and dour Imperial, whose mouth only opened to curse foxes and deer crossing his path). Another Argonian had joined us when we stopped for rest at an inn on the road. Finely stitched hooded robes of some fabric, completely foreign to me, clung to his for. From the almost-visible thrum of magic in the air surrounding him, his clothes were evidently masterfully enchanted. The toned physique he possessed, however, fit a seasoned warrior more than it did a mage; thick muscle pushed the cloth away from his chest and arms, and some light pink scars decorated the dark blue scales of his unassuming face. Perhaps a battlemage?  
For the majority of our journey, the mage occupied himself with worn, dusty and probably very complicated tomes, which he made notes about in a small journal. His scrawled handwriting was practically indecipherable, though; not that I was particularly interested in his reading material, but I was nearing insanity from the sheer boredom.  
"Interesting reading?" I eventually said to him, eager to break the deafening silence.  
The mage looked slightly stunned to hear me speak. Perhaps he'd completely forgotten I was even there. "Oh, very much so. I recovered these books from an Ayleid ruin, and I hope to translate them. Something of a bribe to the College."  
"Which College would that be?" I posed.  
"The Mages' College at Winterhold. You haven't heard of it?" The wizard's face became one of puzzlement.  
As a matter of fact, I hadn't. I knew very little of the land I was travelling to; even in my days at the palace, my teachers knew little of the homeland of the Nords. What little knowledge I had of Skyrim was mostly current events, whispers and hearsay.  
"Why travel so far simply to study?" I asked him, my curiosity piquing. "Surely all you wish to know is taught at the Arcane University." That, I knew more about: the University once was the headquarters of the Mages' Guild, a place for the free study of lawful magics. After the Oblivion Crisis, when Daedra attempted to invade Mundus, distrust of magic forced the dissolution of the Guild, but the University remained fairly untouched.  
The mage gave a scoff, distaste evident in his demeanour. "Cowards, the lot of them. They refuse to pursue certain areas of magic because it frightens people. Only fools fear knowledge."  
Well, he certainly knew how to debate. "A fair argument."  
"Do you know much of magic, friend?"  
"Sadly, little more than parlour tricks. I can light some candles, repair some wounds here and there, but I'm no mage."  
A toothy grin spread across his face. "And I wager you've little interest in becoming one?"  
"The art of the bow is preferable to me," I confessed, patting the sturdy wooden frame that sat beside me in the cart. "My father taught me everything I know. I'd wager I could have an arrow in your chest before you could cast."  
"Let's not put that to the test. The rest of this journey would be dreadfully boring for whomever survives."  
"Good point. I'm Pajux-Tai, by the way, I don't think I introduced myself."  
"I'm called Shroud-Tail."  
With someone to pass the time with, the ride to the border of Skyrim seemed less mind-numbingly uneventful. Shroud-Tail told me of his forays into Ayleid ruins across Cyrodiil, in search of long lost magics and power. From his own knapsack, he showed me a peculiar crystal he'd recovered from a place called Anutwyll. The crystal, blue in colour and ringed with ancient metal, felt almost alive, glowing brightly with magic. Shroud-Tai explained that it was an Ayleid artefact called a Welkynd Stone. Made from a substance modern man and mer knew nothing of, the most rigorous study of the stones yielded nothing about their origins. It seemed the secret had died with the Heartland High Elves.  
"I think," Shroud-Tail began, "the Ayleids used these as magical conduits, like soul gems. There's complex magic infused into them, but nobody has been able to crack their secrets."  
The glint in his small blue eyes brought a smile to my face; such fierce thirst for knowledge could only be admired.  
"I apologise for my exuberance. The Ayleids are incredibly fascinating." The young man seemed a little embarrassed.  
"You've nothing to apologise for," I told him, still smiling. "A strong passion is a great thing to possess. To say nothing of the bravery you have, delving into pits of danger the way you do."  
"You'll make my head swell. I've spoken enough of my own interests for now, though. Tell me of your own reasons for travelling to Skyrim."  
"Well," I started, before the grief bit me once more. "I'm searching for family. My...father was killed two weeks ago."  
"Stendarr's mercy," Shroud-Tail breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't wish to-"  
"Worry not, my friend. His body has returned to the Hist, and his soul now serves Sithis. A peace we all head for."  
I felt my new friend shift somewhat; worship of Sithis was something of a taboo practice in Tamriel. Clearly, Shroud-Tail had been deeply assimilated into the ways of humans.  
"I'd forgotten not all of us revere the Dread Lord," I admitted. "You have nothing to fear from me."  
"What's the word in the old language for Argonians like me?" He asked tentatively. "The ones who don't follow tradition?"  
"Lukiul," I answered with a slight chuckle. "Worry not, I don't judge you for not following our ways. You haven't lived in our lands, felt the whispering of the trees like I have. Do you follow the Nine Divines?"  
"Eight. Talos wasn't a god, just a good man. Even though certain Nords would gut me for saying that."  
I'd forgotten that; the White-Gold Concordat had forbade Talos worship, which was what ruffled the Nords' feathers and caused an all-out war against the Empire. Of course, the Dominion’s chokehold on the Empire mattered little to traditional Argonians; the Thalmor tried to advance on Argonia, but made it maybe ten miles in before the land itself turned on them. The stories tell that the Hist unleashed its fury on the elven invaders, sending the Naga, swamp dragons and all manner of fearsome creatures to decimate them before they even reached our armies. What fun that would have been to see.  
"Almost at Bruma," the cart driver called back gruffly, the thick beard catching his spittle as he spoke. Over the hills, my eyes could just make out the walls of the city. To the west, the sun had just began its descent, meaning a night in the inn would be necessary: with all manner of creatures prowling through the darkness, I was taking no chances.  
The driver pulled the cart into the stables, letting the horses rest and eat their weight in dried hay. Myself, I toyed with the idea of inviting Shroud-Tail to my bed for the night. He was most certainly handsome, his burly, muscled form pleasing on my eyes, and there was a sense of kinship between the two of us from the travels. However, it was not to be: he planned to voyage further towards the northern province alone, confident that his magic would be enough to protect him from harm. With wishes of luck, I bade him farewell, as well as telling him to visit the inn in Riften, should he be in the city. For a moment, before entering Bruma, I watched the small sphere of magical light that hopped along the path, as it followed Shroud-Tail out of view.  
A city more different than Leyawiin I had never seen before. Where Leyawiin had brickwork elegantly designed in Imperial manner, Bruma's common buildings were built from solid wood, partially underneath the snow-covered ground. One could easily discern which houses belonged to the native populace: anyone who had not been born in the city had their chimneys billowing out smoke constantly in an effort to stave off the bone-chilling cold. One of the guard pointed me towards a tavern when I asked where I could spend the night, a quaint place built on a stone lip overlooking the Temple of the Eight. Behind the inn, on the eastern side, there was a statue depicting the Champion of Cyrodiil, whose actions were instrumental in stemming the invasion of Daedra two hundred years past.  
"Welcome, Argonian!" A Nord man behind the bar bellowed as I entered, waving his arm to flag me over. Unease bubbled slightly in my stomach; the zeal with which he greeted me meant he was either drunk or waiting for me, or perhaps both. "It's been some time since one of your kind made their way to Bruma."  
"We...tend to avoid the cold," I said, trying to appear light and amiable, but kept my arm ready to draw my blade, should the need arise.  
"You're from Leyawiin, yes?" The smile on the man's face seemed to be genuine, but I couldn't quite bring myself to trust him. When he turned to his papers, ruffling through them haphazardly, I placed my hand on the pommel of the sword, a seemingly innocent gesture on the surface.  
"Ah, here we are!" The Nord turned back to me, smiling down at a piece of parchment in his rough, barley-coloured hands. "A room's been set aside for you, food and drink included, all paid for by Count Leyawiin. You have friends in high places, stranger."  
With a sigh, I relaxed and took my hand from my blade. The keeper handed me a key, the tag attached reading room fourteen. I took to the room, eager to clean away the long journey.  
The room set aside for me was fairly sizeable and well-furnished; a queen-size bed of feather-down, a maple wood dresser, even a small window providing a wonderful view of the city. The candles in the room flickered to life as my wrist flexed, letting magical energy flow through the air and igniting the wicks. Perhaps I should study magic more, I thought to myself. If nothing else, it may be enjoyable.  
My thoughts were interrupted by the guttural, deep growl from the pits of my stomach. I realised I hadn't eaten for nearly the entire day, having inhaled my last sliver of bread for that morning's breakfast. My clothes were whipped off and a fresh outfit put on as quick as I could, before heading back to the bar downstairs to procure food.  
"What can I get for you?" A Bosmeri serving girl squeaked at me, once I'd sat myself down at a table. The inn was bustling, full of the human and elven clientele drinking away the remainder of the night. From the server, I ordered myself a slab of roasted beef, roast potatoes and wine to go with it. The din of the bar seemed to grow more and more as the night wore on, while I dined in my own quiet world, attempting to plan the impossible: tomorrow, I would continue my trek into Skyrim. As soon as I could get my bearings, I would make for the city of Falkreath to resupply, then Riften, which according to the map was in Skyrim's southeastern region. But from there, what did I do? How did one go about finding the most secretive group in all Tamriel?  
Even if I was to find them, what then? Find their headquarters, announce my identity and expect them to cater to my every need? No. To find the Shadowscale, the son of my saviour, I would need to get my hands bloody. I would have to become a murderer myself.  
Strangely, the thought did not chill my stomach as much as I expected.

Day dawned over the small northern town, not that it did much for the cold: I’d had to keep the hearth in my room firing all night, to keep my blood from freezing in my veins. From the blankets wrenched tightly up to my neck, I emerged, glinting at the streams of sunlight flooding through my window. Dreams of what transpired at the Five Claws haunted my sleep once again, leaving me unrested and sluggish. Teeka, in his final seconds, scolding me for not acting quickly enough, the brute shoving a sword in my gut and leaving me to bleed out, while he took Kasasei by the throat and squeezed the life from her. The look in her eyes, as if to ask me why I let it happen. My pillow was drenched with moisture, of tears I’d shed in my sleep.  
The flames of the hearth had died down to mere embers, flickering their final moments of life away. Fully clothed was the only way I could sleep that night, as well as wearing a tail sock that Kasasei had purchased for my travels. To think, I laughed when she presented it to me, a tube of cotton and goat’s wool, but now, I was dependent on it. While I undressed, the sun shone onto my scales, filling me with a sense of comfortable warmth: the cold blood flowing through me still drank the sunlight as it did in the hotter climes, a natural ability that would come in very handy in the cold of Skyrim. That answered any queries of how any of my people could stand to live in that place. Down in the tavern’s front room, I heartily ate the last of the food Count Caro had paid for, as well as dipping slightly into my own coin for supplies to take with me. Some salted meats, bread and two bottles of mead; wine wouldn’t do as much to stave away the cold.  
And so, Bruma was behind me, as I set off on the Silver Road through the Jerall Mountains. A narrow path through the crevasse was the only way to get through, with tall grey walls on either side looming threateningly, taunting me with the danger that anything could leap down. According to some of the locals of Bruma, Skyrim was infamous for its native wildlife: sabre cats, spriggans, giants and...spiders? No matter how venomous, such small insects like spiders posed little danger for me: Argonian blood has evolved over the generations to withstand any poisons.  
In all honesty, my relentlessly correct inner monologue mused, I had this coming.  
The creature holding me down was at least a hundred times larger than any spider I’d seen; standing four feet from the ground and eight feet from head to abdomen. The sheer weight of its body was almost enough to crush me, supported by huge legs covered in fine brown hairs. Fangs the size of my head dripped with cloudy venom, which was not particularly dangerous to me, but then again, it was not what I focused on. The spider’s great fangs inched ever closer to me, aiming to sever my head and eat it, or something equally as gruesome. I struggled underneath its abdomen, trying to pull my arm free from its grip. By the grace of Sithis, my hand wrenched free, as I managed to unsheath my blade. Blood leaked onto my clothing from the spider’s wound, my blade firmly jammed through its head. A clicking screech was the only noise it could choke out before dropping dead. From then on, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t underestimate Skyrim again.  
Thankfully, I neared the end of the narrow crevasse, paces away from taking my first steps into Skyrim. Something that might have been a slightly solemn occasion, had I not just been floored, nearly gutted, and covered in spider blood. Even in such a state, I could not help but notice the beauty of the land. Acres upon acres of lush greens, dark and light tones alike, seemed to stretch on for eternity, ringed by mountains taller than I’d ever seen. To the west, the most enormous mountain in all of Tamriel, the Throat of the World, reached up to touch the sky, like the arm of Nirn itself. A soft, light dusting of snow had freshly fallen atop the flowers and trees, falling when the soft breeze blew past. The sun continued to shine down on me, keeping me from succumbing to the bitter cold that pervaded the air. As I continued travelling the path, stopping at a small creek to clean myself up, I realised that I had no idea where I was going. Where was Falkreath? There were no signposts to guide me, and no people to ask for direction. Not even any guard patrols. Peculiar.  
My path took me further north for another hour or so, until I came to the bottom of the Throat. From there, the mountain looked taller than it had before, the peak hidden by a barrier of thick cloud, the warm rays of the sun only just managing to burn through. What must have been a signpost in a previous life had been reduced to marked splinters of wood. A move by the Stormcloaks in Skyrim to divert reinforcements from Cyrodiil.  
“Damn it,” I cursed quietly, striking the broken sign with my foot. My mind attempted to conjure up the map of Skyrim I’d studied back in Leyawiin, to little avail. All I could remember was that Falkreath was in the southwest, and Riften in the southeast. The only thing I could do now was rest for a time and ponder on the next step of the journey. Above me, grey clouds were darkening, growing thick with rain. Thanks to my natural litheness and agility, I managed to scale to a small outcropping and find cover before the mass of raindrops began to strike the ground. The cold air around me began biting my scales, with no sun to warm my blood, and I curled myself up against the corner of the cave. Within minutes, another bout of restless sleep claimed my shivering, cold body.  
“Wake up.”  
The voice was unfamiliar. Rough, husky, with an accent I’d only heard once or twice while I stayed in Bruma. With difficulty, I flicked my eyes open to face its owner. A pale-skinned Nord man, with sand-coloured hair just like the beaches of the Topal Bay glared down at me with icy blue eyes. A bulwark of a human dressed in the armour of the Imperial Legion, holding a longsword of the same metal to my stomach.  
“Move, and I gut you where you lie, lizard,” he barked at me. “What are you doing here?”  
I met his gaze, silently attempting to show him I was no threat. “I’m travelling up from Cyrodiil, trying to find my uncle in Riften.”  
“Riften is Stormcloak country these days.” The sword in his hand inched closer to me. “Get up.”  
“I swear to you,” I pleaded, following his orders and getting to my feet, “I’m not working with the Stormcloaks.”  
“Captain Mauricia will decide that. You’re going to Helgen.”

By Sithis, I thought my head would cave in. The tepid, sticky sensation of blood dripped down my head and and back. My memories from the past few hours were hazy, but slowly coming back to me; the guard essentially dragged me down from my covered spot on the outcropping, binding my hands and throwing me into the back of yet another horse-drawn cart. All the while, I shouted and bellowed my innocence to anyone who would listen. When one of the guards tried to subdue me physically, the anger overtook my body and I hissed at the bastard. I would have sunk my teeth into his throat, had he not struck me in the back of the head with the hilt of his blade, forcing me into the blackness and causing the agonising pain in my skull.  
“Argonian,” another voice, this one just as rugged and hard as the Imperial soldier’s, but sounding slightly more kind. A prisoner, I guessed, like I was now. “Are you alright?”  
The noises I made were akin to the cries of a calving mammoth.  
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the voice chuckled, now coming into focus as a muscled Nord man, a blond hair and blue eyed stereotype of the Skyrim natives. “Do you know your name?”  
“Puh...Pajux-Tai,” I groaned.  
“Name’s Ralof.” The Nord smiled at me reassuringly. “Good thing you’re finally awake. Got ambushed by the Imperials, right?”  
Even a simple nod was excruciating.  
“Same as us, and that thief over there.” Ralof gestured to yet another bound human, this one’s hair black as midnight and unkempt, like the rest of him. Dirty ragged clothing, unshaven and more than a little offensive to the nose.  
“Damn you Stormcloaks,” the thief spat at him. “Skyrim was fine before you came along, Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” He turned to me, barely noticing that I wasn’t listening, focusing more on not vomiting. A definite concussion. “You, lizard... We shouldn’t be here, you and me. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”  
Ralof scoffed at him. “We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.”  
One of the guards turned back to us, bellowing at us to shut up. Myself, I simply rested against the cart and cut myself from the incessant prattling of the Nords. Something about the rebellion, which seemed to be all Skyrim had to offer. What I wouldn’t have given for all of this to melt away, to awaken in my bed back in the Five Claws Lodge. To be with the woman I considered a mother as much as my true mother, and live the life I’d lived for the past eight years.  
“General Tullius, sir!” The driver called towards the village we were approaching. A quaint, small place ringed by grey stone walls and towers constructed by the Empire. The buildings were similar to those in Bruma; wood, stone and hay built to withstand Skyrim’s unpredictable weather. Most of the residents of the village came out to jeer at the Stormcloak soldiers being paraded through their home, pelting them (and catching myself in the crossfire) with stones, rotting vegetables and all manner of projectiles. Holding in the contents of my stomach was simpler without the stench of the spoiled food.  
The Nord continued praying to their nonsensical gods, asking them to deliver them to their heavenly plane of Sovngarde. I scoffed at them mentally, knowing that should I die today, Sithis would welcome me to the Void. I would be with my parents, with Teeka-Tei and my childhood friends, and together we would serve the Dread Father for all eternity. The cart pulled up in front of one of the stone walls, as the soldiers began to shepherd us off. Most of the men and women captured were humans, presumably Stormcloak rebels going to their deaths. A silent hope burned in my heart that the captain would still see fit to interrogate me, judge me to not be a Stormcloak and release me. However, the same part of me hoped I was still living a terrible nightmare that I would soon awake from and be back home in the palace in Argonia, so it did not seem likely.  
“Step towards the block when we call your name,” a lioness of an Imperial woman demanded of the prisoners in her care. Captain Mauricia, I gathered. “One at a time!”  
Another Nord soldier, this one young and fresh-faced, stepped forward with a wooden board, presumably the list of prisoners. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”  
The man in front of me, whom I had shared a cart with as well as Ralof and the thief, began his dead man’s march to the block, holding himself with the arrogant pride one would expect from a regicidal maniac and inciter of a holy war. Several of the soldiers bowed their heads in respect, calling out to him and talking of honour.  
“Ralof of Riverwood.”  
Much like his leader, Ralof walked proudly to the lineup, secure in the thought that his cause was just and that his death would deliver him to his ancestors. I allowed myself a small roll of the eye.  
“Lokir of Rorikstead.”  
The horse-thief went...less honourably to his death than the others. Panickedly, he began hollering about not being a rebel, before making an attempt to flee towards the gate. On Mauricia’s orders, he was easily cut down by the legion’s archers. When the violence died down, the young soldier turned back to me, leafing through his list with a human expression of confusion.  
“Who are you?” He asked me, trying to remain professional.  
“My name is Pajux-Tai,” I said cordially. Something in my mind told me he wasn’t doing this for any reason other than following orders.  
“You a relative of one of Riften’s dock workers, Argonian?”  
“No, my relatives are innkeepers there.”  
Still studying his list, he grunted in acknowledgement of my answer. After a second or two, he shook his head, tousled brown locks falling around his square jaw. “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”  
Captain Mauricia sized me up, a scowl on her sharp face, before turning away to face the executioner. “Forget the list. He goes to the block.”  
Well, one could hardly say that was an unprecedented turn of events.  
“By your orders, captain,” the other soldier replied to her, as he met my gaze, his dark irises practically beaming out sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’ll see that your remains are returned to Black Marsh. Follow Captain Mauricia, prisoner.”  
It took all I had not to spit in his face, but my impending execution was no fault of his. Instead, I simply scowled as I brushed past him, marching in the footsteps of the Stormcloaks and taking my place in the line. Something pricked at the back of my mind, the sensation of being watched. The source of the sensation was another Argonian, a female. Slim like I was, scales a muddy brown colour and caked with dirt, with one eye red and slitted, and the other clouded white with blindness. Solemnly, the female bowed her head in my direction, mouthing some words of prayer for us. I returned the favour, breathing a quiet line in our traditional language for both of our souls.  
The Imperial general, Tullius he’d been called by one of the soldiers, began some pompous, self-righteous speech about putting down the rebellion and restoring peace in this forsaken frozen waste of land. Spitting in Jarl Ulfric’s face for good measure, Tullius ordered the executions to commence. A priestess of the Imperial Divine of Arkay, God of the Dead, began reciting the final rites for the condemned, however was interrupted by one of the Stormcloaks spewing nonsense about Talos, the outlawed divine. The arrogant, pig-headed ass marched forward as if his death would be the proudest moment of his life. Thank Sithis the executioner did not take his time.  
Then we heard the sound.  
Words cannot describe the sheer terror it brought forth in the pit of my stomach. No creature on Nirn could roar like that; whatever made that noise had come from the pits of Oblivion itself. A screeching noise that echoed across the whole area, vibrating with energy like I’d never felt before.  
How the Imperials could maintain themselves after hearing that sound was utterly beyond me. But, they managed to, as Captain Mauricia turned her scowling face to me.  
“The lizard!” She barked, presumably meant to offend, but I thought little of it. Argonians were rather lizard-like. Also, stepping forth to one’s death is not exactly the time to debate offensive slurs.  
The kind, young soldier was the one to push me to my knees, and force me to lay down on the block. Blood, marrow, as well as pieces of bone still stuck to the wood, which seeped in between my scales. In my gullet, I felt the bile rise from my stomach once again, having only just been put down after the concussion. Once again, I swallowed it down, determined to die with some semblance of dignity.  
Sunlight glinted off of the night-black blade of the headsman’s axe, raised high and ready to sever my head from my neck. All I truly regretted in that moment was that I had to die like this: to have escaped death so many times, and it ends on the block like a common criminal. For a brief moment, I considered standing and bellowing “I am Prince Demerinei IV, heir to the throne of Argonia, and I think I deserve a better death than this!” As amusing as it might have been, the only change in death that I may have earned would have been a sword through the chest.  
Or perhaps fate had another, more frightening and painful death in store for me. Just as the headsman was about to throw down the axe, that sound burst through the air once again. This time, however, the source of it showed itself. As soon as the town saw it, every single one of them collapsed into a frenzy of screams.  
And in one instant, everyone who’d ever thought of me as an overgrown lizard began to rethink that. It was huge, bigger than the Imperial towers around us, with scales darker than the darkest night. A maw roughly the size of my entire body, adorned with horns and sharp spines, snaked out from its body, with claws and teeth that could cut metal as if it were butter. And its wings... Every flap and beat blew air with enough force to tear the leaves from the trees, enough to knock me from the block and take down the bulking executioner.  
The beast roared once more, this time with such power and force that the world changed around it; the sky turned a shade of red that I thought I’d been taken to the Void itself. From the crimson clouds surrounding the town of Helgen, fireballs began to fall and strike the ground, reducing buildings to rubble at a moment’s notice.  
One of the villagers, a woman who was taken down by a fireball not a second after, screamed the creature’s name shrilly.  
“Dragon!”


	4. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the ruins of Helgen, being beset upon by a creature that has flown out of myth and legend, Pajux barely escapes with the scales on his body. However, even a dragon is not enough to dissuade the prodigal prince from his journey. His next destination: the city of Riften, and another step closer to the cold embrace of the Dread Father...

 The air around my body seemed to be on fire, as the dragon's breath set everything in its path alight and reduced it to ash. Most of the townspeople had flown into a panic, the rest burned to death or had been struck by falling stone. The executioner had doubled over from the force of the wind, blown forward by the beast's wings onto my legs. Pinned down by the man's weight, I was stuck. The colossal wings had become taut and spread wide, as it took flight once again: the sheer force of the thing managed to dislodge the entire tower and sent rubble towards the ground. It mattered very little to me whether the executioner was unconscious or dead: unable to get himself to safety, he had minutes of life at best. As difficult as it was with bound hands, I mustered what strength I could and dragged his body over me, his form taking the brunt of damage from the dislodged rocks. Dust and chips of stone struck my eyes and face, scratching, drawing blood, and once the barrage had ended, I rolled him off me and scurried as quickly as I could to shelter behind a burning house. Arid smoke clouded the air and turned it a thick grey colour, making it difficult to catch my breath, and the heat around me boiled away any moisture from my scales.  
 "Hey," a hushed but frantic voice called from my left. "Marsh-friend! Over here!"  
I turned to her, the Argonian female heading for the block. Soot had blackened the mud-colour of her scales, and the feathers atop her head and been singed by a falling ball of fire. Like myself, her hands were bound by thick, strong rope, which she struggled against in vain.  
 “Are you alright?” She asked, her voice hoarse from the smoke. “Can you walk?”  
 “I think so,” I coughed. Her one good eye was wide with fear; obviously the axe was a more desirable death than being roasted alive by dragonfire.  
 “Here.” The female turned away, lifting her bound hands. “Bite through my constraints, and I’ll undo yours.”  
Laying on my stomach, I did as bade and gnawed as tightly as I could at the ropes, feeling them fray under my fangs. After a moment or two, the fibres broke and the female rubbed the bruised skin and scale of her wrists. Luckily for me, she kept her word instead of simply abandoning me to my fate. My hands free once again, we stuck close to the walls around the city for cover. The dragon had abandoned this part of the city to its fiery fate, circling over the other side and raining fire when the mood took it. Movement caught my eye towards the eastern edge of Helgen; Imperial soldiers herding Stormcloak prisoners and villagers through the tall wooden gates that were corralling us like cattle, ripe for the dragon to pick.  
 “We can get out,” I murmured to the female, afraid that the dragon would hear me - which was highly unlikely, given that the beast was fifty feet in the air besieging the other end of the city.  
 “Wait,” she rasped at me. “The carts. Grab some supplies.”  
From the wreckage of those damned Imperial carts that had brought us to the brink of death, the two of us managed to salvage some weapons and a few knapsacks, hopefully full of things we could use.  
This was it. With the female’s impaired sight, I kept one eye to the western edge of town where the dragon was currently attacking, in case it saw us. Adrenaline pounded through my blood, the sound of it beating behind my timpani like a drum of war. Either I ran, or I died. And I refused to die today.  
My foot struck the dirt hard and I was off, sprinting at top speed towards the soldiers at the gate. Their eyes locked onto us as their hands beckoned us towards them, mouths speaking words that were lost in the din of explosions and bellowing of the soon-to-be dead. A fireball blew behind us, the force and heat propelling my body forward until I was feet away from the gate. Behind me, my new companion stumbled over a rock, almost taking her completely down, had I not caught her and kept her on her feet. With my aid in the form of a hand clasped tightly over hers, both of us threw ourselves out of the wooden gate, followed by the soldiers making their own break for it. We were not yet safe, though; screams and flames were hot on our tails, as well as the danger that the beast would swoop down to claim us. Ahead, a path along the base of the Throat of the World would hopefully lead us to safety, and we made our way across it, not daring to look back at the devastation erupting in the ruins of Helgen.  
  
She and I ran as quickly as we could, until we both simply collapsed in a plain and prayed for death. Night had fallen, taking away our one means of maintaining bodily warmth; I doubted I could even fend off a fox like this. Our prayers for the end might have been heeded, had we not been found by two kind Khajiit women, clad in thick, heavy plate armour. When they were satisfied that we posed no danger, the women helped us to our feet and made way towards their campsite in the shallow valley that dominated the south of Eastmarch. The terrain of this part of Skyrim seemed strange and alien; as if a portion of Morrowind’s more barren landscape had been transplanted here. Crags and rocky spires made the land seem torn to shreds, as well as pools of a strange, green water that smelled like rotten food. Despite its desert-like appearance, we were still in the middle of Skyrim’s tundra, in all of its bitter, windy glory.  
The Khajiit had a campsite set up in the shelter of a small crevasse, roughly eight of the feline race busying themselves cleaning clothes, chopping wood for the fire and cooking food on the spit. The two women helped us walk towards the open flame, in front of which we collapsed, our bodies almost drinking the radiating heat. In a tent on the edge of camp, another Khajiit began walking towards us: female as well, with dark brown fur covering her face, and two long ears adorned with rings atop her skull.  
 “Greetings, scaled ones. My name is Ahkari,” she introduced herself, bowing her head slightly. The female and I mimicked the gesture. “The leader of this caravan.”  
 “Pajux-Tai,” I shivered, trying to huddle my body closer to the fire.  
 “The humans ironically call me Keen-Eye,” the female replied, hissing the word ‘humans’. “It’s the only name I know.”  
Ahkari’s nose crinkled somewhat at her words, her feline eyes telling a thousand stories of cruel words from the mouths of humankind. “There is no prejudice to be found in this camp, Durjiit. You are welcomed.”  
 “Durjiit?” Keen-Eye echoed, a glaze of confusion in her eyes. Before Ahkari could answer, I leapt into an explanation with more than a little eagerness to show off.  
 “It means ‘ones who swim the waters’. Their word for Argonians.”  
 “You are quite knowledgeable, young one,” Ahkari told me, her round yellow eyes squinting under what I assumed was the pressure of a smile. “Are you a scholar, perhaps?”  
 “No, simply someone with a keen interest in reading.” I broke my eye contact with the Khajiit slightly, afraid she would see through my smokescreen. My father, my true father, had some meetings with the Mane of the Khajiiti lands. I recalled enquiring about the word; the Mane, despite his importance and stature being equal to that of my father, was more than happy to answer the questions of a curious child.  
Ahkari retired back to her tent once again, regretfully informing us of the lack of tents available. Keen-Eye and I were in agreement, however, that we would likely be more comfortable sleeping by the fire: our cold blood did not conjure much body heat to warm us under the canvas. Laying my head onto the bedroll, I watched the stars twinkle and dance above my head, with the turquoise-green wisps of the Northern Lights twisting themselves around them like smoke. The idea of sleep struck terror in my heart; after the dragon attacking Helgen, as well as the image of Teeka’s death so fresh in my memory, who knew what images my mind would conjure as I slept. It seemed Keen-Eye felt the same.  
 “I realise in the commotion of Helgen,” I said over the flickering flames of the Khajiit campfire, “that I know nothing of you.”  
Keen gave a small laugh under her breath. “Commotion is certainly putting it lightly, friend. What do you wish to know of me?”  
 “Why did the Imperials have you in binds?”  
Keen-Eye spat to the ground. “Petty thievery, if you can believe it. With a war going on, especially one that, whispers tell, the Empire isn’t crushing into the dirt as they’d hoped, pickpocketing some coin to flee the Nord’s persecution pales in comparison.”  
 “They would execute you for such a small crime?”  
 “Well, it hardly helped my case that I slashed a soldier’s face with my claws. Bastard had it coming, punching me in the stomach.”  
 “I near enough did the same, friend,” I laughed quietly. “Humans tend not to take a clawing to the face well.”  
 “How were you captured, if I may ask?” Keen’s small, red eye gazed at me expectantly.  
 “Hardly as exciting as yours. I had just crossed the border, when a patrol caught me sheltering from the rain in a cave. They assumed I was a scout for the rebels, dragged me by the tail to Helgen and sentenced me to die.”  
 “I’d wager you’re the most wanted criminal in Tamriel,” she joked. “How dare you seek shelter from this unholy, biting cold?”  
Keen’s humour brought a smile to my lips; the way she was able to come out of that unspeakable horror we’d both endured with a laugh on her breath made me envious. Her laughter was infectious, clearing away some of the crushing darkness clouding my mind.  
 “So,” she began once again, “why in the name of the Hist would you come to Skyrim? I would have fled already had I gotten away with pilfering that coin.”  
A question I’d been dreading, of course. Something in the back of my mind told me to simply be as honest as was safe for me: we’d both saved one another’s life, which tends to merit trust. I blew a hefty sigh, trying to find the words. “My adoptive father, he was...killed two weeks past. His last request of me was to find his other son, somewhere in Skyrim.”  
Keen nodded attentively, her face conveying sympathy, but without the demeaning pity. “I'm sure I have no words that would ease your pain, my friend. But I can offer an ear for any words of anger or pain you have, as well as some...closeness, should you be interested.”  
My eyes met hers, as I gave her a slight look from the corner, as well as flashing her a dazzling smile. “And when you say closeness, I assume you mean sex?”  
 “If you so desire,” she replied, giving me a smile of her own. “A shame we have no tent of our own, on second thought.”  
 “Perhaps for the best. It seems wrong to indulge in such pleasures when we watched an entire village burn to death not twelve hours ago.” Some may say joking about it was distasteful, however I thought of it as a means of coping.  
 “What do you plan to do, when morning arrives?” She asked me, a swift change of subject from my deflation of her idea. It is not that I found her unattractive; quite the opposite. Tonight was not the night, though. “My own plans were nothing more than escape the Assemblage, and the constant torment of the Nords. I perhaps should have put more thought into it.”  
 “I shall press on to Riften,” I mused. “My uncle...well, my adoptive uncle, he owns the inn.”  
Had Keen had ears, they would have pricked up. “Riften? You speak of Talen-Jei?”  
 “You know him?”  
 “I’ve spent many a night drunk on his concoction.” Keen laughed heartily. “When you arrive, have him make you a White-Gold Tower. You’ll never want to drink anything else, I swear to Sithis.”  
 “Why not come with me, then? We can share one, and perhaps I’ll think more on your offer of...closeness.”  
This time, her laugh became a sultry chuckle. “I suppose I have no real options. The Fishery in Riften is good work for our kind. Who can fish better than the Saxhleel?”  
She allowed herself one more pretty smile, which stretched further into a wide yawn that shook her entire body, even the feathers atop her head. I was tired also, but the thought of sleep, and the inevitable nightmares, chilled me to the bone. Rest would most definitely be a necessity; we had a long road ahead of us to Riften.  
Within my bedroll, I attempted to curl myself up for warmth, to little avail. The biting winds still rattled around me, forcing a trembling shiver through my entire body. After some shuffling next to the flames, the abyss of half-sleep took me in its cold embrace, and, saying the least, I was right to fear it.  
  
The caravan's leader was gracious enough to feed us before we took to the road, as we sat with the rest of the Khajiit band of merchants. The sun had only just begun to rise over the eastern Jerall mountains, sending rays of light red streaking across the sky. In the camp, while food was being cooked over the flames, Ahkari set about her business checking the stocks of their wares with some of the other merchants, while the rest began to take apart their tents and make ready to move on.  
While Keen-Eye had taken towards the woods to the south, hoping to bag some game for the caravan as thanks for their kindness, I sat with the Khajiiti cubs and regaled them with a (much embellished) retelling of what had transpired at Helgen. My words twisted and turned the tale from destruction and devastation to one of heroism and valour, enrapturing the young ones, who devoured my every utterance with glowing, wide eyes. When my tale ended, the cubs began to question about all manner of things, such as why I had scales instead of fur, while another asked to touch my horns. Keen returned from her forays, hulking a deceased deer, to find me almost smothered by the young Khajiit, bringing a laugh to her lips. Once our bellies were full and thanks were given to the merchants, it came time for the two of us to continue on our way to the Riften. According to Ahkari, the city was roughly a half-day's journey from the camp, and directed us south to find Lake Honrich, on the other side of which lay our destination. And hopefully, information that will lead me to the Dark Brotherhood.  
Thankfully, no dragons interrupted our journey this time around. Instead, I saw a beauty I had not expected from this land; evergreen trees growing like spires at the foot of the Jeralls. No matter how tall they grew, however, they looked like grass compared to the hulking great mountains. The ones that did not keep their deep colour through the seasons had begun to turn as red as wine from encroaching autumn, with one or two leaves pulling from their roots and taking to the air. Unlike here, where the cold seemed to slow everything to a crawl, fall in Black Marsh seemed to occur overnight; one day, the sun would be beating down, the air hot enough to cook food on the stone pathways, and the next the trees were brown, leaves fell to the ground as if from the sky and cool breezes brushed against my scales.  
Just as the homesickness began to send ice through my veins, I saw Keen beckon from the corner of my eye from the tip of a small, grassy knoll. We had been walking for hours on end, with no rest; that woman seemed to have the energy and stamina of ten men. My calves screamed at me, begging me to stop, to just...die for a moment, if only to have some reprieve. I took Keen's hand and let her half-drag me the last few paces.  
 "Not long now," she said to me. "We should reach the city by six bells, I think."  
 "Thank Sithis," I groaned loudly, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of the socket as I sat on the grass and just gazed. The waters of Lake Honrich glistened brightly, reflecting the sun's bright rays, as they lapped against the city's docks. Stone walls, similar to those in Helgen but twice as thick, rose up around dilapidated buildings made of similar material. What I assumed to be the seat of the city government sat on a platform-like hill above the rest of Riften. Did Skyrim have Counts, as Cyrodiil did?  
It took some time for me to summon the energy to stand and walk once more, but eventually the muscles in my legs seemed to die completely and I could press on once again with little pain. Some small farms were the only notable things to pass on the rest of the road, and Keen and I approached the city's main gate.  
 "Lizards," one of the Nord guards flanking each side of the entrance barked at us. "You have to pay the visitor's tax to get in."  
 "Visitor's tax?" I queried.  
The guard stepped forward, his cuirass made of leather and covered with purple cloth. "Visitor's tax. Fifty septims, now." The steel of his full-faced helm made his demand more menacing.  
 "Don't you threaten us, thief," Keen growled. "I doubt the Jarl will mind the death of a man trying to extort visitors to her fair city."  
The imposter's glare could have melted the metal of the helm, but eventually he gave in, allowing us passage into Riften.  
 "Keep a hand on your coin," Keen murmured under her breath to me. "Skyrim's Thieves' Guild operates out of here." Wonderful.  
By Sithis, the odour! Stagnant, dirty water lay in what used to be a canal, presumably used as a thoroughfare in days past. But now, rotting fish and moss released an almost-criminally offensive smell through the entire city. Most of Riften's citizens managed to ignore it, however.  
 "Keen!"  
Both of us reflexively turned towards the person speaking, whose name fit very well. Not surprisingly, it was another Nord, this one a woman clad in heavy steel armour, armed with a hulking battle axe. Her face was smooth and pretty, covered in carefully applied blue paint as if this were the eve of battle. Such strange fashion choices.  
 "My lovely Lioness!" Keen exclaimed, pulling the other woman into a friendly embrace. "Your work to eradicate the injustice here is woefully lacking. We were just accosted by the Guild."  
She scoffed, playfully batting Keen on the shoulder. "Keep talking, lizard. I could use a new pair of boots." Keen's laugh was genuine; if a Nordess with the nickname 'Lioness' threatened me, I'd be terrified. "So, last I saw you, you were plotting Torbjorn Shatter-Shield's slow, painful demise. Did you finally escape that torment?"  
 "I did, actually, but not in the way I expected." Keen's hand made a gesture to me. "This is Pajux-Tai, a friend of mine. Pajux, this is Mjoll, the Lioness."  
 "A pleasure," I said politely, giving her a slight smile. Keen and her became engrossed in a conversation once again, allowing me to slip into the shadows, into solitude. Time alone was good for me, even if my mind tormented me with horrific images. The more images it conjured, the less they affected me, such was the process of grief. As I leant against the wall, lost in my thoughts, I felt a presence shift beside me; a large one. With a weapon.  
And of course, it was another damned Nord. This one had a slightly darker complexion than the others I'd seen, with a great square jaw and greasy black hair that hung haphazardly around his face.  
 "I don't know you," he said, in a voice just as gruff as his cousins spread across the land. "You in Riften looking for trouble?"  
My body instinctively became taut, ready for a fight if it came to it. My eyes caught his, rounded and green like the dirty canal.  
 "No," I told him. "I'm visiting some family."  
The brute grunted, almost pig-like. "Yeah? Well, keep to yourself. Last thing the Black-Briars need is some stranger sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."  
 "Is that a name I should know?"  
 "Yeah, it is. The most powerful clan in Riften, all'a Skyrim I'd wager. I watch the streets for them. Name's Maul." This was very peculiar; he'd went from vicious guard dog to friendly introductions in the blink of an eye. Were Nords physically incapable of not trying to intimidate?  
 "Pajux-Tai," I told him. "My uncle runs the inn."  
 "Talen-Jei, huh? Well, you should be good around here. Everyone in Riften respects him 'n' Keerava." Maul's face came into the light, making it appear much softer than it had before. "Except Maven. But Maven doesn't do respect, she does fear."  
 "I take it this 'Maven' is your employer? One of the Black-Briars?"  
 "You got that right. Woman's untouchable. She's got the Jarl under her thumb, ties to the Thieves' Guild, Cyrodiil, even the Dark Brotherhood."  
Well, now, I thought to myself, isn't that interesting?  
 "Come to the inn tonight." My voice took on a shade of wryness, as I poured every ounce of persuasiveness I could into it. "We'll talk."  
  
 "What was that about?" Keen asked me, once Maul had faded back to wherever he had appeared from. Worry crossed her face; her good eye narrowed slightly, and the scales of her brow furrowed.  
 "Someone selling information," I explained, conveniently leaving out the part about the Brotherhood. Keen didn't need to know. "I told him to jump in the canal."  
 "I'd curb that tongue, my friend. You don't want to poke the bear that is Maven Black-Briar." Her tone was humorous, but I saw in the deep red of her eye the true concern. Whoever this Black-Briar woman was, she was someone I hoped never to cross paths with. Unless, of course, I was fulfilling a contract. For her, ordered by her, it mattered little.  
And so, Keen and I crossed the wooden bridge that connected the different sides of Riften, separated by the canal, towards the inn. What I would find within, however, remained to be seen.  
 "Set down your flagons filled with vile liquids, embrace the teachings of the handmaiden of Kyne!"  
If I'd had anywhere else to go, hearing that priest would have made me turn on my heels and leave then and there. But, I remained by the door, waiting for him to either be thrown out on his ass or killed. The priest, a Redguard dressed in burnt orange and yellow robes befitting his profession, continued to preach about his chosen Divine; Mara, the humans' goddess that embodied love and compassion. Why must humans have a Divine for everything?  
 "Maramal," the husky voice of an older female echoed throughout the wooden main hall of the inn. "We talked about this."  
 "Come now, Keerava," Maramal pleaded to the Argonian bartender, who must have been the lover Kasasei mentioned. Across the room, I caught a look at her; slightly older, but younger than my adoptive mother, with greyish scales and a spiked brow hiding burgundy-coloured eyes. Behind her head, a small bunch of short spikes were decorated with rings made of gold plate.  
Keerava interrupted him, calling out for Talen to deal with him. And so he appeared, my adoptive uncle. Not that one could tell he and Kasasei were related; Talen-Jei's scales were a bright, light green, all but his neck and chest, which took a shade of sunset orange. Long, green feathers swept back from his head, with two small horns atop his brow, flanked by smaller ones above his eyes, which were the only similarity he shared with his sister. The same bright, golden colour that glared at me with disapproval when I spilled the drinks, welled up with laughter at my jokes and cried a river of tears when the love of her life was so brutally taken from her.  
 "Keep your scales on," he called to Keerava, setting down the crate of mead he had brought up from the cellar, before turning sternly towards the priest. "Come now, Maramal."  
 "You're going to throw me out?" The Redguard gasped as if he'd just been told his wife had given birth to a spriggan.  
 "Not at all," Talen said. "Just leave the sermons at the temple and let us all sin in peace."  
This was most definitely Kasasei's family. Their sharp wit must have been inherited. Once the priest had been dealt with, Talen and Keerava returned to their patrons; taking drink and food orders, bringing plates and flagons, et cetera. A shame for them that they had to run it on their own. Keen-Eye and I took a seat by the wall, keeping a watchful eye on the bar's customers. Riften was under Stormcloak influence, meaning all of us were subject to the Nords' persecution and racism. After a moment or two, Talen approached our small table, his face giving away the annoyance in his mind.  
 "What can I get your you?" He asked, keeping his eyes focused on the small notebook he used for orders.  
 "I'll take a White-Gold Tower," Keen ordered. I thought she seemed a little insulted that Talen did not recognise her. This indignation didn't last very long, however, as he caught Keen's eye and smiled.  
 "I don't think so. Last time, I had to drag you upstairs by your feathers." The two shared a pleasant chuckle, before Talen turned to me. "And you, lad?"  
 "Make it two... Uncle." I smiled at him, watching his face twist from pleasant to confused to realisation.  
 "Xhuth," he murmured, eyes wide. "You're here. Thank the gods, I expected you days ago!"  
 "I was held up in Helgen."  
For a moment, I thought Talen would physically burst. "Where the dragon hit? What were you thinking?!"  
 "Well," I began, harnessing every drop of cheek I could, "I was arrested by the Imperials while crossing the border, sentenced to death and then besieged by a creature that crawled out of legend and started spewing fire everywhere. Mostly I was thinking a mixture of 'what next?' and 'by Sithis, something out there wants me dead'."  
Talen struggled to keep a hold of his worry, but it dissipated into a small puff of laughter. "I'm glad you're safe. I dread to think what Kasasei would have done had something happened."  
 "A dragon and a rebellion would be the least of the Empire's worries. She would tear down the Imperial City brick by brick."  
The older Argonian gave another curt smile, before taking to get the drinks we'd ordered. Something, namely eight years of serving under Her Ladyship in Leyawiin, whispered in the back of my mind that I would not get many more chances to sit back and relax the way I was. Over at the bar, Keerava had barely even glanced my way. Part of me, the Pajux-Tai part, worried that I would be an imposition in her life, but the other, the entitled Prince Demerinei, cared little. She surely would not mind my presence as long as I was useful.  
 "Here we are," Talen said, strolling towards the table with two flagons in hand. "Two White-Gold Towers. Enjoy it, lad, because you start working as soon as you finish it."  
Needless to say, I drank mine slowly.  
Keen took her leave some time later, heading to see about work at Riften's local fishery, which I understood was a lucrative profession, thanks to the richness of Lake Honrich's waters. Myself, I brought the flagons to the front and set to cleaning them.  
 "Talen told me you were coming," Keerava piped up, her voice rather husky and low-pitched. "I didn't even know he had a sister, never mind a nephew."  
 "I didn't know she had a brother until a month ago," I told her. "Perhaps they simply didn't mention it, having not seen one another in so long."  
 "It's possible, I guess." Her spiky brow seemed to drop a little bit. "I just wished I knew before. If I'd asked him, maybe he'd have told me."  
 "Maybe it's best that you didn't. All I know of my adopted family is that their mother died a good while ago. Perhaps Talen doesn't like to think about it."  
Keerava simply nodded, before scolding me for talking instead of working, similarly to how Kasasei would despite her starting a conversation. She ordered me down to the basement to fill some bottles with Black-Briar mead from their kegs, and I did as I was told, picking up the case of empty glass and heading for the basement.  
 "Pajux," Talen's voice echoed through the air of the underfloor room. "Come here a moment."  
 "Is something the matter?" I called to him, making my way down the stairs. The inn's cellar, full of bottles of finely-aged wine, imported mead and various other drinks Talen and Keerava had collected over time. By the far wall, in front of a desk with a ledger, a small lockbox for valuables, and a safe to the right, stood Talen, hunched over a letter as if trying to translate it from Aldmeris. An uneasy feeling boiled in my stomach.  
 "Apparently," he began, "you have something to tell me. My sister says you can trust me."  
 "Oh." The case of bottles in my arms faltered, but I managed to regain my hold on them. "You may want to sit down."  
He did so, watching me expectantly as if waiting for me to burst into flames or something like that. I set down the case, before turning to him, racking my mind to find the words.

And the words came. My true identity, the events that took Teeka from us, I told Talen-Jei everything, all the while his face grew ever more dark and closed. His deep, golden eyes swam with thoughts, almost tangible as they buzzed around inside his mind.  
Once my tale ended, the two of us simply sat in silence, as I gave Talen the time he needed to absorb what I’d told him.  
“That is,” he began, after some moments, “quite the story. Had I a choice, I’d call you mad.”  
“Every word I’ve told you is the truth.” My eyes met Talen’s, trying to make him see just that. “Think logically; why would I masquerade as a rogue monarch simply to fool an innkeeper a thousand miles from anywhere the claim would mean anything?”  
“Good point.” Talen took a deep breath, releasing it in a puff through his scaled lips. “And you’re here simply to find this young Shadowscale? What will you do if you fail, or if he’s dead?”  
This time, it was my turn to release my breath, in a hefty sigh. “At least I would have fulfilled Teeka’s request. He gave his life to protect me, it is the least I could do.”  
“I see. Well, I trust my sister. She loved you as if you were her own, and that’s good enough for me. Any help I have to offer is yours, should you need it.” Talen’s face softened, a hint of humour coming to his eyes. “You will have to earn your keep, though; Keerava and I barely have enough coin to feed ourselves.”  
“It’s a deal,” I said, smiling. “Uncle.”  
“Upstairs. We’ll let you take it easily tonight, given what you’ve been through, but you’re up at sunrise tomorrow for the breakfast rush. Tell Keerava I’d like to speak to her, and cover the bar.”  
“Yes, sir,” I joked, giving him a salute.

"Show me the coin. Then we talk."  
The thin sack of gold septims fell from my hand onto the table, drawing the Nord's dark eyes. The Bee and Barb had cleared out somewhat, leaving only the hardened alcoholics that would have to drag themselves home in the small hours of the morning or fall asleep in the street. Talen and Keerava busied themselves clearing up, making ready for the next day's rabble of patrons. Keerava begrudgingly allowed me to speak with Maul, excusing me from my duties of cleaning on the premise that I would make it up later.  
"What dirt do you want? The Guild, Maven, what?"  
I met his eyes, trying to maintain a detached demeanour. "No. I need the Dark Brotherhood."  
Maul scoffed, the air ruffling the fine hairs on his upper lip. "Who do you want killed?"  
"Nobody," I said. "I need to get into contact with them. Do you know any members?"  
"Can't help you there. None of them come out unless they're on the hunt, and you don't want to be on that end."  
"Then what if I wanted someone killed? How would I go about that?"  
"More trouble than it's worth. It involves a lotta ritual; candles, chanting. You're better off stabbing whoever it is yourself. You could ask Maven about it, but she’d make you into boots before she told you." Maul took a gulp of his mead, then shaking the cup to ask for more. Nearly tripping over the chairs in my haste, I flitted to the bar and took another bottle. Keerava quipped at me to finish up, needing me to refill some of the bottles at the barrels again. But I was finally getting somewhere in my search for the Brotherhood.  
"What if," I began, placing the bottle by his armoured arm, "I was aspiring to join them?"  
Maul snorted like a hog at this prospect. "You? An assassin? Look, I know you lizards like to hide in trees, play with bows and arrows, but you need to do a lot better if you want to join them."  
"Trust me." My voice was low, a deep rumble in my throat. "I can more than handle myself. Tell me what you know."  
Another swig of his drink. "You can't just walk up to them and ask to be part of them. They have to come to you, and they'll only do that if you impress them."  
Sitting back in my chair, I let out a hefty, long sigh. How would I do that? Murder a random innocent in the streets?  
On second thought, my inner monologue mused, that isn't such a bad idea. Maybe something as simple as gutting a drunken Nord calling me a lizard for the ninth time in one breath would do it.  
"Normally," Maul began once again, "I wouldn't tell you something like this so cheap. But frankly, you're out of your mind and have a death wish, and I plan to stay on your good side for when you snap. There's a kid, up in Windhelm. Name's Aventus Aretino. Word on the street is he's been doing that ritual. Maybe go see him, do his contract as a peace offering."  
"Better than plunging a dagger into the next person I see," I jested. "That was as close to a plan as I had."   
Maul have a deep laugh. "Well, I’m definitely leaving. Good luck, Death Wish."  
Once the Nord was gone, Keerava had me running around as if my tail was on fire, with no shortage of things to do despite the emptiness of the bar. With Keerava looking over my shoulder to ensure my work was good enough, I busied myself cleaning the empty rooms on the second floor. It seemed the patrons of the Bee and Barb were even bigger pigs than those who frequented the Five Claws, leaving empty bottles, plates and half-eaten food behind them when they left. How disgusting.  
Once the rooms were clean, and Keerava had inspected them to ensure they were up to her standards, exhaustion had began to creep up through my legs. The muscles ached, the soles of my feet were likely bruised and bloody and my eyes felt heavier than anything Keerava had had me carrying.  
I heaved myself up the creaky wooden stairs, dragging my beaten carcass towards the room Talen and Keerava gave to me. Collapsing onto the wooden bed of hay and chicken feather was the best part of my day; I didn’t even undress before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
As the sun rose the next morning, Keerava’s fist banged against my bedroom door to wake me up. A loud groan was all she got in response, but I managed to heave myself out of bed and to the washbasin. Quickly splashing cool water on my scales served to wake me up slightly, but Keerava barking orders in my timpani did the rest. I worked up until midday, where I took a short break to eat, all the while thinking on what Maul had told me the previous night. Windhelm... Aventus Aretino... My decision was already made. As soon as my food was finished, I pulled Talen aside, down into the basement and safely out of earshot.  
“Is something the matter, boy?” He asked me, a splash of concern in his voice.  
“I have a lead,” I said. “With the Brotherhood. Apparently, a child up in Windhelm is trying to summon them.”   
The older Argonian gave a hefty sigh. “I have to admit... I’m not entirely comfortable with my nephew becoming a paid killer.”  
“You know I have to do this, Talen. It was the final promise I made to Teeka. If I don’t do this... I’ll die a thousand miles from home, and the An-Xileel win.”  
“And if you’re caught, executed by the guards? The An-Xileel win just as much.”  
“Then I’ll go to the Void knowing I died trying.”  
One more sigh, before he raised his hands in defeat. “If I can’t convince you otherwise, then I have to support you.”  
“Thank you. Truly, I know this is a difficult situation, but your support means the world to me.” I moved closer to Talen and threw my arms around him, feeling his own return the embrace. Then, as men will do, we separated ourselves from the un-masculine display of affection, and shared a brief awkward cough.  
“So when will you leave to go to Windhelm?” He asked.  
“Tonight,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Before the Brotherhood can collect the contract themselves.”  
Talen gave a curt, slow nod, his dark green brow creasing in concern. For the rest of the day, the three of us worked serving our patrons, and as slowly as a drunkard’s slur, night fell.

Cold. The easiest way to describe the city of Windhelm, built on a peninsula in the middle of a half-frozen lake. Snow seemed to fall without end from the expanse of dark grey clouds, almost matching the stone of the walls surrounding Ysgramor’s city. As I made my way across the icy stone bridge, wrapped as thick and tight as I could to conserve what little warmth I made, I leaned over the wall, looking down to the docks. Just as Keen had told me, several Argonians laboured thanklessly unloading the several ships delivering goods from across Tamriel. A part of me longed to go down, offer my aid, make the day’s labour a little easier for them. But I couldn’t. Every moment counted.  
Ignoring the mix of wary and disgusted looks from the Windhelm populace, fuelled by unjust prejudice against Argonian people, I made my way towards the city’s upper east quarter, looming over the Grey Quarter where the Dunmer made their homes. However, not by choice. It seemed the Nords despised anyone not human. But to them, Argonians were the bottom of the barrel, since they refused to allow us entry into the city for more than a few hours. Bastards.  
When one of the Stormcloak guards spat the word ‘lizard’ at me, I almost plunged my claws into her throat, and likely would have if I hadn’t been reminded of my business in Windhelm.  
“...Aventus Aretino is doing the Black Sacrament?”  
Hearing the name Maul had told me of pulled me out of the pit of anger, as I turned to face the young Nord child and his Dunmer nursemaid. The elf soon dragged the child away from the house she believed cursed and touched by evil, but she did mention why:  
The Dark Brotherhood.  
Maul’s information paid off, I thought to myself, approaching the door to the arched house. My timpani pressed to the door, I listened closely for any sign of movement or life inside. Very faint sounds like thuds vibrated against my ear, telling me someone was inside. From my pocket, I lifted a lockpick and my tension tool. The tool pushed down on the inside of the lock, as the pick made the tumblers click into place. Click, click, click... The lock turned easily, and the home was open to me.  
By the grace of Sithis, my internal voice groaned, this house is offensive!  
Rotten wood and mould seemed like luxurious perfumes from the markets of Daggerfall compared to this unholy stench. A mix of pre-adolescent sweat and unbathed odour, several kinds of rotten food and what was unmistakably the smell of old, dead flesh. Which emanated from the corpse another young Nord child was stabbing mercilessly.  
“Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear.”  
The haunting chant echoed in the house, made much more spine-chilling by the youthful voice projecting it. This must have been the ritual Maul had mentioned to invoke the Brotherhood, the Black Sacrament the child outside had mentioned. I crept upstairs, keeping my footfalls light and quiet as I approached the child.  
“Are you all right, boy?” I called to him, stirring him from his mesmerised chanting. He jumped to his feet, staring at me with a certain sick joy in his eyes.  
“I-it worked...” He whispered, before bursting into almost demented laughter. “It worked! I knew you’d come, I just knew it! I did the Black Sacrament, over and over with the body, and the... things! And then you came!  
“An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!”


	5. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pajux has found a very promising lead for the Dark Brotherhood: a runaway from Honorhall Orphanage. The child had prayed endlessly for the Brotherhood to take his contract for the life of the Orphanage's caretaker. Only time will tell if our wandering prince will have the stomach for taking a life, and the shadows are keeping a very close eye...

My face was blank as I stared at the young Nord, his greasy face gleeful and excited. The brown irises set deep in his pale face seemed to shine with the anticipation that his time hadn't been wasted.  
My chest fell with the breath leaving it, blowing past my lips. "Th-the Black Sacrament... Yes... Of course."  
"It took so long... So very long..." The child whimpered, breathless from the exhaustion. Performing this ritual had clearly taken much out of his young body. "But now you're here! You can accept my contract!"  
It seemed futile to try and convince him I wasn't a true assassin. The boy was delirious from the sheer fatigue after his endless chanting. My best course of action was to play along.  
"Contract?" I asked him, keeping my words aloof and mysterious, a demeanour befitting a shadowed assassin.  
Aventus took a moment to compose himself, and told me his pitiful tale. His mother grew ill in the winter, and never recovered. Her life ended in her sleep one night, and with no guardian, the city's Jarl ordered the child was taken to the orphanage in Riften, a place I'd never looked twice at during my time there.  
"The headmistress is an evil, cruel woman. They call her Grelod the Kind, but she's not kind, she's terrible! To all of us! So I ran away, and came home... And performed the Black Sacrament. Now you're here, and you can kill her!"  
As he told his tale, I remained quiet. The boy was quite right to seek the death of this woman; in his place, I'd likely do the same thing.  
"Grelod the Kind will die," I told him matter-of-factly, despite my doubts around this. I'd promised Teeka in his final moments that I'd do whatever it takes to find his son. Taking this woman's life... Before, when I thought of having to kill someone, I did not relish it. But it didn't repulse me.  
Now, as I made my way out of the city to get a cart, it hit me that I would actually be doing this. Murder.  
Loath as I was to admit it, some deep, dark part of me anticipated it with a trembling excitement. A primal part, from when my people were less civilised than they were today; we hunted, killed, and we enjoyed it.  
I spent my time on the cart planning out a strategy for taking out the headmistress; getting in and killing her would be the easiest part. What danger would a half-dozen orphans and their elderly mistress pose to a strong young man such as myself?  
No, the difficult part would be avoiding alerting the city guard. The best way to do that would be to sneak in under cover of night, as the children slept, and simply slit the hag's throat as she slumbered. A more merciful death than she probably deserved, but my escape took priority. So long as the old bitch took her place in the Void at my hand, it didn't matter much how.  
After the cart pulled into Riften, I returned to the Bee and Barb. It seemed Keerava had barely noticed my absence, but Talen had clearly been fretting, judging by the crease on his brow.  
"Pajux!" he called as I entered. "It's good to see you're back. Come, I have something for you."  
My uncle lead me downstairs, to the basement and out of earshot of the inn's patrons. On his desk lay a small envelope, plain and worn from the time it had spent in a courier's pack. The name Teeka-Tei had given me was written on the face, in a handwriting I knew too well.

_My dearest Pajux-Tai,_

_Words themselves cannot express the relief I felt hearing you were well. Even though I had to hear it from Talen, not you. Do remind me to rattle your horns for that when next I see you. That dragon that burned Helgen to rubble and ash will seem like a scampering lizard compared to me._  
All joking aside, I miss you terribly. Life running the Five Claws myself is much lonelier than I remember. Lacking your warm smile and your father's cheerful laugh to get me through the day makes it almost impossible. But I get through. It's all I can do now, for you and Teeka. He would never let me live it down if I gave in.  
I do hope your search is going well. I’ve tried myself to research into the subject, but the Count’s public library holds very little on them, and what little I learned could prove dangerous to you and myself if I shared it here. 

_Please be careful, my child, and do write me if you have time._

_I will forever love you with all my heart.  
Kasasei_

A little tear rolled itself down between the scales of my cheek. My eyes flitted over the words again and again, committing them to memory. A tight aching feeling spread itself across my chest. I pined for her, for Teeka... And for my true parents, my life back in Black Marsh. Twice I’d lost everything because of the An-Xileel, because of Wan-Xeera. As soon as I heard the name spoken in my head, the ache in my heart turned to rage. Not the white-hot anger that the word would normally conjure, but a calm rage. A calculating one. One that will fuel my desire to make that dry-scaled bastard suffer as much as possible, by whatever means necessary. And becoming a member of the Dark Brotherhood was the only way to do it.

The sun rose over Riften, and once again I rose with it. Keerava had me collect the day’s produce from Marise Aravel, a Dunmer grocer who normally set her shop on a small patch beside the inn. A lovely woman, with a keen talent for keeping food fresh beyond its time. A crate of crisp vegetables for the day’s stew, Keerava’s specialty of beef and lamb, waited to be carried inside.  
Talen had allowed me to take today free from work, to prepare myself for the night to come, which greatly ired Keerava. I wondered to myself as I caught her glare, if she would be any less indignant about it if she knew what was happening. It was unlikely, however. Not many would tolerate a murderer under their roof, much less one intent on joining the ranks of Tamriel’s most infamous assassin’s guild, and making a career out of it. For the sake of their hopeful marriage, Talen had chosen not to tell her about my plans, and I didn’t judge him for it. Should things go sour, as things so often do, he could claim ignorance about the whole thing. And I wouldn’t allow the two of them to be dragged down by a blunder I made.  
A mug of wine in my hand, my journal in the other, I began to pore over my plans for the headmistress’ removal. Around nine bells, the guard changes for the night, which would be my safest option for evasion. Teeka mentioned causing a distraction for them, giving me more time to slip away unnoticed. It seemed as if I was as ready as I’d ever be.  
“You avoiding me?” A voice lightly scolded me from the other side of the table. I looked up from my journal to see the muddy brown scales, much cleaner than the first time I saw them, and a tuft of feathers now neatly arranged. And of course, the familiar combination of blood-red and clouded white in the eyes.  
“Keen!” I exclaimed with a smile, standing to take her in a hug. A little bit of guilt pricked my stomach; I had been avoiding her some, just to protect her from what the future held for me. She didn’t deserve to be tangled in all of that. “How’s life at the Fishery?”  
“Terrible,” she complained. “Wujeeta’s been hitting the skooma again, and of course it falls to me to pick up her slack.”  
“Why do you bother then?”  
“It isn’t her fault. She’s an addict, she doesn’t do it willingly.” The pretty Argonian’s face fell a little. “One time she went a week without it. Poor thing nearly clawed her scales off.”  
Again, guilt softly burned in my stomach. "I see... I think I was a little quick to judge."  
"It's not hard to make these conclusions. At any rate, Wujeeta's problems shouldn't be a topic for us to discuss. Not working today?"  
"No, and I can feel Keerava's glare burning a hole in my skull." I allowed myself a small chuckle, placing my journal back on the table. Closed, of course. "I have something I must do tonight. And it will probably end with me leaving Riften for a good while."  
Keen's form shifted awkwardly in her seat, her good eye trailing downwards away from my gaze. "I see. Going somewhere specific?"  
"I'm not entirely sure. I'm sorry for being cryptic about it, but... It's best you don't know. It's safer for you."  
"I can take care of myself, Pajux."  
A huff of air blew from my nose. "I don't doubt that. But if you ended up harmed, I couldn't live with myself."  
The female shrugged a little, brushing off my concerns, as was her way. "You know, you never did take me up on that offer."  
"What offer would that be?" I lied, knowing exactly what she referred to.  
"Spend the night with me. Tonight, before you do whatever it is you must do."  
"I can't. You have no idea how much I want to... I just can't."  
She stood up, turning as if to walk away, but instead she spoke once more. "Guess it will have to be now." Before I could even open my mouth, her coarse hand had wrapped itself around mine, leading me upstairs to the room she had on retainer. When both of us were inside, she closed and locked the door, turning to me with a glint in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. Her arms moved themselves past my hips, fingers lacing together at the small of my back, above where my tail began. A few seconds passed as her face became more and more concerned.  
"You... Don't want to?" Her voice quietly asked.  
"Of course I do. But... I want to make it clear. When I leave, I have to leave alone."  
The red eye looked into mine, her head shaking slowly with the smirk still firmly in place. “This isn’t a proposal or some consummation of love, Pajux. Just sex, for the purpose of enjoyment. Afterwards, we’ll remain friends, but that’s as far as it goes. Does that sound fair?”  
“It does.” The weight on my chest lifted. My hand gently tugged my friend’s arm, allowing myself to fall back onto the soft feather-filled bed, landing with Keen on top of me. I felt her hands deftly move across my body, across the light linen shirt covering my chest. The sensation was enough to draw out a soft moan from my throat, and when she reached my waist, they moved underneath the cloth and up the scales of my chest. Her claws touched the soft skin between them, leaving a tingling as they did. But soon after, Keen grew slightly impatient, moving back down and slipping under the waist of my trousers. I gave another moan, feeling myself stiffen, as Keen took it upon herself to lock her lips with mine, her breath a distinct taste of honey from the mead she’d drank earlier. My eyes closed slowly, gently pushing my tongue to hers, stroking the coarse length.  
Our bodies rolled over so that I was on top of her, untying the lacings of her shirt and allowing it to fall from her. She did the same with me, pulling the shirt off over my head, exposing both of us. Moments of semi-awkward fumbling left us both unclothed, stroking each other. My hand moved to her breast instinctively, as I kissed down her beautiful body as gently and teasingly as I could. Further and further down, until I took my place between her legs.  
My experience with women was not as refined as my experience with other men, but it had taught me how to please. And for me, pleasuring my partner was almost as exciting as the full act itself. As my long tongue traced Keen’s depths, I felt her writhing. Her teeth sank into the pillow to stifle the moans, as her legs lay on my shoulders, every muscle tensing up.  
When her body told me she was close, I retracted my tongue, kissing up her once again until I was face-to-face with her. Not that she needed to speak; I could tell she desired it as much as I did, but I waited. Waited for her to say the words, to give her consent.  
And the consent came, in the form of a gentle whisper. “Do it...”  
With that confirmation, I slipped my length into her, just quick enough to draw out a sharp moan from her mouth. She remained tense and slightly unyielding, so I eased off to let her grow accustomed to my size. It didn’t take long; she soon became more supple and soft, and I began moving into her, hilting myself inside.  
“I-is it painful at all?” I whispered into her timpani, gently stroking her stomach. She answered with a simple shake of her head, giving me one more gentle kiss as I pulled back, only to push inside once more. My hand moved down between her legs again, stroking the delicate and most receptive part of her. Soft, high pitched noises told me she enjoyed the sensation, as did I.  
It took minutes at most, but felt instantaneous; she reached her climax before I did, her insides squeezing down on my length as the wetness coated my crotch and fingers alike. That only brought mine closer, and with one last push, I was awash with waves of pleasure. It was probably ill-advised to do it while still inside her; as far as I knew, both of us were fertile and compatible, but I couldn’t help myself. I rested my head on the pillow beside her, soft pants tickling the scales on the back of her neck. Keen removed me from her, turning to face me with a bright, warm smile.  
“I had no idea you’d be so good at this,” she said breathily. “We’d have done this every night if I had.”  
“Neither did I, if I’m honest,” I replied. “But I’m glad it was as good for you as it was for me.”  
“When do you have to leave?”  
“The tenth bell tonight.”  
“Then we can clean ourselves some, spend the rest of today with some drinks. But you’d best visit from time to time.” Her smile grew again, showing some of her shining teeth. “I won’t just be thrown away like a dirty rag you use after you polish your spear.”  
That crude innuendo brought a laugh to my voice. “Of course not, Keen.”

The bells of Mistveil Keep rang upon the hour, the autumn sun having set around two hours before. Nine loud, hollow chimes echoed across the city of Riften, the final call of the time until the next morning. I sat outside of the inn, my eyes trained on the orphanage across the canal as I sipped on my mead, working up the courage to actually go through with this. As the final bell rang out, the guards on the previous shift let out a collective sigh of relief, as their replacements took over the posts. Most returned to their homes, some even leaving the city to return to family farms and homes outwith Riften’s city walls.  
A few minutes later, and the planned distraction began. Talen, as part of an act, refused to serve any more drink to a patron. The patron, actually Maul who’d been bribed with the promise of free mead on request, then stood and delivered a heavy-looking blow. The inn’s other guests stood to watch the brawl, as well as the guards. They should have stopped it, but few can resist watching a fight.  
With the guards and civilians distracted, I got to my feet, making my way unseen and unnoticed, towards Honorhall Orphanage.  
As expected, the door was locked for the night. Likely to prevent any other runaways like Aventus. My fingers took a small metal lockpick from my pocket, as well as my tension tool. In the lock, the tension tool held down the cylinder, while the pick’s tip poked the pins up into place.  
_Click, click, click._  
The lock turned with ease, pulling back the metal latch and allowing the door to open. Thankfully, the orphanage was kept in a decent state: the door’s hinges had been oiled, and swung open noiselessly. The inside of the orphanage were plain and simple; wooden floors and wall panels set against stone. The dining room of the building held more wooden furniture, namely a long table for the children to eat on. A small room, off of the dining room, with the door only just slightly ajar was the first place I checked. The night was too early for those in adulthood to be asleep,which meant I needed to be silent, a means of composure befitting an assassin. Where I expected to see a crone with hair grey as granite, I only saw a young Imperial woman, fairly pretty with dark hair to her shoulders. The matron’s assistant, I assumed. Closing the door silently, I turned to take a look into the orphanage’s main hall.  
Five beds were arranged in two rows, two on the left by the door to the garden, and three on the right by the hearth. Four of them were filled with the soundly-sleeping orphans, evidently exhausted by the constant and merciless mistreatment by their caretaker. My footfalls remained silent as I made my way across the room, until I heard a soft, small yawn. One of the children, a little Nord girl, slowly sat up in her bed, reaching for a goblet of water by her bedside. She took a sip of the water, and turned to see me, her eyes widely growing.  
My finger moved to my mouth, communicating to her to keep silent. It moved to point at one of the doors, where the matron slept, and then to my throat, drawing it across. I’m going to kill her, the signal said.  
The girl’s eyes grew excited, as she fervently nodded, laying her head back on the pillow and back to sleep. Before she did, her own little pink finger directed me to the door on the left. At her suggestion, I moved to the door, opening it quietly to reveal another, more luxurious bedroom. A wide double bed, empty for now, and wall sconces lighting up the room. In a small crevice on the right, the ancient hag I was to kill sat and looked over some papers, quietly grumbling to herself. I closed the door behind me, yet another moment of luck that it closed quietly, and moved further in.  
Grelod the Kind was likely deaf, or at least had failing hearing, as she didn’t hear the breathing or even sense the presence of another person in her room. At least, not until my hand grabbed her by the mouth, stifling any attempt at screaming or shouting for aid. Not that it stopped her; I felt the pressure of breath, desperate to escape between my fingers. I pulled her back and looked her in the eye, whispering gently from my maw.  
“The Dark Brotherhood has come, Grelod,” the whisper said, taunting her in her final moments. “Sithis will judge you for your cruelty.”  
The dagger strapped to my thigh lifted from its sheath, coming to her Nordically pale skin (or possibly Imperial; with elder humans it was difficult to tell). Almost like butter, the skin holding in her precious lifeblood parted with ease, spilling the crimson down her haggard body. The withered hands attempting to pull my strong scaled one from her mouth grew weaker and weaker, as her life left her, and her spirit took its place in the Void.  
As she fell limply to the floor, still leaking blood, I checked my own clothing for bloodstains. I’d miraculously avoided it, meaning now there would be no reason for anyone to suspect me for the murder. The door opened silently again, as I made my way out of the orphanage, giving a curt smirk to the Nord girl who’d woken to see me. I passed the assistant’s room as I headed for the front door, only to hear a voice behind me.  
“Oh! I thought I’d locked that door,” the young woman’s voice said to me. “You shouldn’t be here.”  
I turned and attempted to smile as best I could, trying not to give away that I’d just murdered her employer in cold blood. “I just came in to talk about adopting an orphan.”  
“I’m afraid not,” she replied, with a genuine pity and sadness as she spared a look at the mistreated orphans. “The children aren’t up for adoption. You should go, it would be cruel to get their hopes up.”  
“I understand. Farewell, Miss.” I turned on my heels and left the orphanage, rather glad that now the orphans would receive the care and love they needed.  
A brisk walking pace carried me back to the Bee and Barb, trying to keep from looking too suspicious. The brawl had come to an end, with Maul leaving just as I entered. He and I shared a brief knowing look, as I walked to the basement. Keerava stood over Talen, treating a rather nasty-looking cut on his cheek with salve and a rag. He looked over at me, a relieved sigh blowing out of his maw.  
“Since you haven’t been dragged to jail,” he began, “you managed it?”  
“Yes,” I told him. “But I have to go, now. I don’t have long.”  
“What?” Keerava asked us both, turning her gaze to me from Talen’s wound. “What have you done?”  
“Keerava, please,” Talen sighed. “I’ll explain it all later my dear, once I’ve seen Pajux off.” His eyes fell to me. “Have you any idea where you’ll go?  
“Windhelm, for a start. I’ll plan my way forward from there.”  
Talen got to his feet, a little shaky from the brawl, and pulled me into his arms. “Be careful, boy. For your mother.”  
“I will, Uncle. I will.”

Travelling to Windhelm on foot was a feat in itself. Past the small mining village of Shor’s Stone towards the Orsimer Stronghold of Narzulbur, through the valley. The journey took me through the night, and by the time I came around the mountain where Kynesgrove sat upon, the sun had begun to rise, lightening the grey of the snow clouds on the horizon. Strangely, it looked much different now than compared to my last visit, just a few short days ago. Perhaps it was me that had changed.  
Of course, Aventus Aretino was completely overjoyed at the news of Grelod’s death. The child almost skipped and danced with glee, and he gave me my payment in the form of a plate made of solid silver, worth a half decent amount. I would have stayed longer with the boy, but the night-long journey had completely exhausted me. The market stalls were open in the Stone Quarter, allowing me to sell Aventus’ silver plate with ease. The fifty septims I sold it for bought me a good meal, and a room in the inn to sleep off the journey from Riften. I took the food, a plate of cooked beef and vegetables, in the room the innkeeper had given to me. With a full belly, my exhaustion doubled, and sleep claimed me almost as soon as I lay on the feather bed.  
The dreams in my mind as I slept weren’t particularly pleasant or unpleasant. A few fleeting images of home, the palace in Helstrom, then the Five Claws, but then they turned dark, as I saw myself stab, slice, cut people down with a smile on my lips. And what’s worse, I relished in it. Enjoyed myself. However, what I did to Grelod, what I planned to do to others at the Brotherhood’s orders, if I couldn’t stomach it, then I would never get home. Never take back what was rightfully mine.  
When I awoke, Sithis knows how much later, my vision was blurred and my head heavy. Something pricked in my mind... But it was too addled by sleep to register anything. I rolled my head around on the pillow. No, not a pillow... Something much harder than a pillow. Something wooden. A bench? The floor?  
_Ah, my head_ , I thought to myself, moving my hand to touch it. Felt normal, no swelling or scars.  
And then that niggling, prickling feeling in my head cleared, becoming a definite feeling of unease.  
Danger.  
“Sleep well?”  
The voice distinctly belonged to a woman. Human, or elf, as it lacked the hiss that came with the voice of an Argonian, and the soft accent of a Khajiit. Some moments passed as my vision cleared, the owner of the voice taking shape. She was tall and slender, but still undeniably strong, the same way a jungle cat is. Most of her body was covered in leather armour, dyed red and black and, from the slight aura given off by it, enchanted. Only her eyes were uncovered, which were a crisp blue. Like ice, the kind of ice that only forms in the most cold, harsh tundras.  
“Wh-where am I...?” My voice was little more than a croak, my head and body still heavy and groggy from the unnatural sleep.  
“Does it matter?” The shadowed female retorted, with a tone that could only be described as ‘when a cat plays with a mouse before killing it’. “You’re warm, dry, and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?”  
“Y-you know... about Grelod?” My hand moved to my head, to stop it from caving in. Something seemed to be ringing a bell in my head, trying to tell me something, but my head was too addled to make any sense of it.  
The woman in the armour let out a quiet laugh. “Half of Skyrim knows. Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to...get around. Oh, but don’t misunderstand. I’m not criticising. It was a good kill. The old crone had it coming, and you saved a group of urchins to boot.”  
Being praised for my handiwork in ending the old bitch’s life was a strange sensation, but a part of me enjoyed it. My mind cleared up a little more, and that strange feeling in my head, something trying to get my attention intensified.  
“But,” she began once again, “there is a slight... Problem.”  
“A problem?” I croaked in reply. As the words left my lips, the sensation in my mind cleared up completely.  
“You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for me and my associates...”  
Red and black armour? Murderers? The fact that this woman had managed to steal me away in my sleep, with nobody noticing? I’d seen all of this before.  
“He was looking for the Dark Brotherhood.”  
I’d done it.

The search, despite being only a few weeks long, felt like an era in the making. And here I was, face to face with this woman, an assassin working for them, and I was speechless. What could I say, just come out with it and ask to join them?  
_No_ , I thought to myself. _They respond to actions. She brought me here for a reason, and it’s most likely a test._  
The assassin sat on top of an old bookcase, which looked precarious and ancient, but still managed to hold her weight. Those crisp, icy blue eyes bored holes into my scales, completely unreadable, in the most unnerving way possible. It was likely she was testing me; it was also likely she was toying with me, taunting me for her own pleasure.  
“Grelod the Kind,” she continued, “was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay.”  
Thank Sithis for that. “Who must I kill?”  
“Well now, funny you should ask.” The long, slender arm lifted from the bookcase, gesturing behind me. “If you turn around, you’ll notice my guests. I’ve... ‘collected’ them from...” A short laugh came out from behind her cowl. “Well, that’s not really important. The here and now, that’s what matters.”  
My body shuffled around to see the victims this assassin had collected. Three different people, two humans, a male and a female, and a Khajiit, all wearing opaque black hoods. The male human wore raggedy, worn leather armour, the female a tattered tunic, and the Khajiit wore some middle-class finery.  
“There’s a contract out on one of them,” the assassin continued to explain, “and that person can’t leave this room alive. But... Which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice, make your kill. I just want to observe... And admire.”  
She relaxed herself, watching with eager attentiveness as I stepped towards the bound and hooded captives.  
The first of the three I questioned, the male human, was a mercenary who was one jump away from making a mess in his breeches. He called himself Fultheim, and owned up to being somewhat overzealous in his work. A distinct possibility that someone he’d hired was displeased with him possibly beginning a bloodbath out of rage.  
The female human, whose acidic voice spat in my face that I’d get nothing from her, was another definite possibility. People tend not to respond well to having their heads bitten off for saying hello.  
And finally, the Khajiit. Vasha, a self proclaimed ‘obtainer of goods, taker of lives and defiler of daughters’. I wanted to kill him regardless of whether or not he had a contract on him or not.  
My mind raced through what little information I had on these three people. All three of them probably had someone out there who wanted them dead: in all honesty, I wanted them dead somewhat myself.  
I came to my decision. The assassin left me a dagger on the end table next to her, just simple iron, but enough to end a life with ease. Silently, my feet moved their way behind my chosen victim, as I collected myself and took the dagger in hand.  
_Crack!_  
Blood spurted out from the Khajiit’s neck, as a gurgling scream sounded out, and then faded into nothing. The assassin continued to stare at me from the corner, something about her eyes telling me she was smirking. Part of me thought she knew what I was planning.  
My dagger plunged itself into two more necks, ending the lives of the two humans as well in bloody screams. When the three captives lay lifeless on the floor, I turned my head up once more to face the assassin.  
“Well well,” she said, keeping her tone as aloof as possible, “aren’t we the overachiever? Three victims, three possibilities... Must have been one of them, right? So why take chances?”  
I cleaned blood from my scales, using an old rag on the end table. “You told me to kill, so I killed. I don’t recall you saying I couldn’t kill them all.”  
My response clearly shocked her, but it seemed I’d pleased this mysterious assassin. “You seem to understand what is truly important, my friend. When I give the order to spill blood, you follow.”  
“What happens now?” My voice definitely contained an undeniable glee. I’d shown I could follow the Brotherhood’s orders to the letter, no questions asked.  
“Well, now you’re free to go. But why stop here?” She hopped down from the bookshelf, sauntering over to me. The slim, gloved fingers wrapped around the cowl, pulling it down to reveal a set of pinkish lips. Without the cowl, it was possible to see the full sharpness of her features, as if her skin had been tightly stretched over her skull. “I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: ‘Silence, my brother.’ Then, you’re in.”  
From one of the pockets on her armour, she drew a rusted old key and handed it to me, allowing me to leave the damp shack and breathe the cold air again. As soon as I left the shack, I found myself in marshland, but very unlike the ones back home; this marsh was salted, and cold. Not something I wanted to swim in much. Looking to the south, I could just about make out some sort of town or village. From there, the southwesternmost city would likely be Falkreath, which my best bet to get there would be a cart.  
And there, my new life in the Brotherhood would begin.

The cart trip south was not the most pleasant experience of my life. Much less pleasant than the ride from Leyawiin to Bruma all those weeks ago, this cart was much more uncomfortable, old, and the wheel came off three times over the course of the journey. But time passed, and I arrived in the most forested region of Skyrim. Falkreath was most famed for its lumber and mill trade. Ruled over by the Jarl Siddgeir, an outspoken Empire supporter, the region managed to keep itself alive.  
My stomach complained of hunger, but I ignored it; my new home with the Brotherhood awaited me. Something inside me seemed to sense how close I was to them, as if that woman was breathing down my neck as I walked down the streets. Many of the citizens of Falkreath gave me odd looks; Argonians were not the most common sight in this part of Skyrim, where their racism was allowed to fester. Their distasteful gazes and glares didn’t faze me at all, as I made my way directly into the Pine Forest. Soon, I was surrounded by foliage and trees on all sides: even finding my way back to Falkreath would be a task in itself.  
It felt like hours of trekking, but the sun had barely moved in the sky. I took a short rest on a large boulder just off the forest path, gulping down a mouthful of the tepid water from my skin, when something caught my eye. A strangely shaped rock outcropping, something many travellers through this forest wouldn’t cast a second glance upon, unless one was looking for something out of the ordinary.  
Such as the lair of a guild of assassins.  
I stood from the boulder, inching foward carefully, should it instead be the lair of some unfriendly forest animal. My heart thudded and thumped hard against my ribs, threatening to burst from the bone cage that held it. Adrenaline coursed through my body, every scale on edge. A pool of viscous-looking black fluid had pooled next to the formation, to which I did not want to get too close. The outcropping opened up some, into what looked like the opening to a cave. Instead of a cave, however, I found a hulking, metal door.  
With the image of several skulls on it.  
This had to be it, without a doubt. In most incarnations, the large skull was an effigy of Sithis, due to His entwinement with death. Underneath the largest, five others were carved into it, as well as a more complete image of a skeleton. My studies of the guild told me of their reverence for a mysterious entity known as the Night Mother, who bore Sithis five sons, and slaughtered every one in cold blood to gain His favour. That is, if the legends were true. And I would not find out by standing, maw slacking.  
The imposing door towered at least eight feet from the ground, with the eye sockets of Sithis’ skull level with mine, and boring into my soul. On its forehead, a red handprint insignia was imprinted onto the metal. Something seemed to tug on my hand, pulling it to the ice-cold metal of the door.  
_What is the music of life?_  
The dark, whispering voice could have scared the life out of the bravest man on Nirn. It seemed to be everywhere at once, coming from every shadow around me. My hand ripped from the metal, my entire body flung backwards from the fright, my breathing reduced to shallow, quick pants.  
Something sparked in my mind, a memory in the form of a voice.  
“ _When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: ‘Silence, My Brother’._ ”  
That was enough instruction for me. Shakily, I got to my feet, slightly staggering as I approached the door one more time. My hand connected with the blood red handprint once more, as I took a slow, deep breath.  
_What is the music of life?_  
My mind gave me the words, as spoken by the assassin in the shack, after I took three lives at her command.  
“Silence, my brother.”  
_Welcome home._


End file.
